Mean Time to Breakdown
by AncillaryCharacter
Summary: In the end, defying inertia, she was never able to confess to him. The heart attack, the collapse, the subsequent hospitalization, it all foreshadowed a lonely, dismal, and tragically short future. But maybe there's something there, at Yamaku Academy. In spite of the odds, can you really rebuild your life there? Divergence fic with a protagonist you may not expect.
1. Frozen Sopor

Can I get a second chance?

* * *

I can hear the sound of the snow crunching underneath my feet, even despite the winds raging between the trees.

This place is so beautiful in the summer... The enclosure of trees provides sanctuary from the gaze and the sounds of teachers and students. The leaves have since fallen, and now the copse seems bare, almost skeletal. Still, though... with the snowflakes falling dreamily from a bleached white sky, I think this place is more beautiful than ever.

That's why I chose this place. This is where I want things to begin.

The freshly fallen snow is almost pristine, save for a single pair of footprints into the woods. I feel a flutter in my chest, and focusing on the metronymic sound of the snow crackling under my feet is the only way I can keep from losing my resolve. As it is, I know I'm almost twenty minutes late. It took me that long simply to conquer my own anxieties.

I must have thrown away ten drafts of that note before I was finally able convince myself that one was flawless. Even then, I couldn't work up the nerve to deliver it myself. I handed it over to a friend. That was this morning. I've hardly been able to concentrate on anything else since that moment.

I finally see him, facing away from me, breathing into his hands to fight the numbing winter cold. The sight of him causes my heart to race, and despite the biting winds, I can feel my face get hot with embarrassment. He's freezing because I've kept him waiting out here for half an hour.

Not a good start. I almost lose my nerve and turn around, but the same anxiety that makes me want to give up is also paralyzing me, keeping me bolted to where I'm standing.

No. There won't be any turning back.

"Hi... Hisao? You came?"

A stammering, painfully obvious question. I internally wince at my words. Didn't I have something else to say? Didn't I practice something? Why can't I remember?

I feel my heart skip a beat as my voice reaches his ear and he starts to turn around. His eyes meet my own and I momentarily forget not to look like I'm completely petrified.

He starts to say something, and my heart begins to race even before he's finished his first sentence.

I don't think I even hear what he says. All I can focus on is the tenor of his voice. I recognize what's in his hand, though. The eleventh draft. The note I haven't seen since this morning.

"Ahmm... yes," I say, as if I'm still somewhat uncertain, "I asked a friend to give you that note..."

Smile, stupid. Smile. Don't look terrified.

"I'm so glad you got it."

This time, he doesn't say anything. He seems... dumbfounded. I start to feel like an idiot. My heart is pounding now, hard, as though it were striking me in protest, chastising me for being a fool.

After what seems like a century, he finally speaks again. "So... ah... here we are. Out in the cold..."

Again, the wind begins to roar through the woods. I feel it brush against me and I can't help but flinch against the force of it. In truth, I'm not dressed for this weather, though I don't feel cold at all, anymore. I stand up straighter, despite the wind.

His eyes are earnest and excited. A part of me never would have dreamed the two of us would be here, having a moment like this. My heart thumps anxiously, each beat sounding with greater and greater urgency. I can't... what was it I was going to say to him?

My throat is tight; speech is a challenge, now. Determined, I will myself to force out the words.

"Y," I gasp, "You see..."

_thump_

"...I w, I wanted to... know..."

_thumpthump_

"...if, yyyou'd g, go out with ME..."

He stand there, motionless, and I see his eyes wash over with... apprehension? Horror? I think I've done something wrong; whatever it was, I know I must say something else, but... I suddenly realize it's gone. My voice... There's something wrong with my voice...

"...Iwanako?"

Without warning, my throat erupts into pain.

I try to clutch my neck, to quell this _inferno_ spreading into my chest, but as I try to move my arms they _wail _in protest...

"Iwanako?!"

_thump_

My whole body goes rigid, betraying me, except for my eyes, which only express terror.

_thumpthumpthumpthump_

"IWANAKO!"

Then the building pressure in my chest dies away. I break apart onto the virgin snow.

This beautiful wood, where I wanted everything to begin — the obsidian trees, the howl of the wind, Hisao running towards me — all of it fades to white. The last thing I remember before the world goes away is the feeling of his hand on my cheek and the snow against my bare skin...


	2. A Girl Salvaged

That was four months ago.

I can hardly believe it even happened, now. I've been in this room for so long, I started to wonder if it wasn't all some fleeting dream. The only reason I know it isn't is because everybody in my world seems to know about it. But that isn't as many people as there used to be. Everything's a microcosm of what came before. I've only seen a fraction of the people I thought I knew. But from those I have seen, I no longer have any secrets.

It's not a pleasant thing to think about. But in the four months that I've been here, there haven't exactly been a lot of other options.

Hisao personally carried me to the nurse's office. I later found out that, were it not for his quick reaction, I may have died out there. It was supposed to make me feel better. But in truth, I still felt dead regardless.

Arrhythmia. If you're willing to give it a little thought, it's not too hard to tease the meaning out of a word like that. Tachycardia is much harder. That's what my arrhythmia can cause: a rapid, dangerously fast heart rate. It can be fatal.

'Ignorance is Bliss.' I'd heard that maxim before, but before I woke up in this bed, I had never really thought about it. I'd apparently had this condition for a long time. My whole life? I learned it was highly unusual that I was able to live so long without this happening. _Lucky, _I thought. _A miracle, _they said. _A joke_, I thought.

Unsurprisingly, my parents were sanguine about the entire situation. They could afford the treatment, after all. Their most pressing concern was the revelation that the disorder was genetic. My older brother didn't have it, though, so all was well. As long as he was fine, a minor inconvenience like this was no trouble at all.

A minor inconvenience like me.

My brother never actually visited me in the hospital. I thought he might show up, eventually, but that day never came. He sent me flowers and candies, and, allegedly, left a voicemail on the phone I hadn't seen since that day in the snow. Months went by, though, and he never showed his face. I began to forget what he looked like. I knew he was busy — he'd always been — but I found it exasperating that I could drop dead, any moment, without ever seeing him again.

While his absence was troubling, my classmates' near-constant presence was just aggravating. The first week I was there, there always seemed to be some visitors beside my bed, even people I hadn't spoken to in years. Time passed and I slowly came to the realization that all this attention was the result of a class project. It was stifling, being surrounded by all those people. I was a captive in my own bed, compelled to endure a cacophony of chatter and small talk that persisted until the late evenings. It came as a relief when their interest waned after only a week and I never saw any of them again.

Even after that first week, though, my friends continued to trickle in for a while afterward. Some of these friends I'd known for years, and in the past they'd been an inexhaustible source of support and understanding. They continued to provide me with both, but it wasn't nourishing anymore. Those friends whose jokes I always laughed at now began to seem obnoxious. I always used to enjoy gossip, but the newest anecdotes all seemed so abstract and pointless. My friends' support felt hollow, superficial. Above all, it was painfully obvious that not a single one of them had even the slightest idea what I was going through. Our lives had always been so ordinary and carefree; our friendships had never been tested by fire.

Those close, loyal friendships felt so tacky and soulless now. In the end, I think I pushed them all away.

Hisao was the last to stop coming. His visits were the worst.

He visited me several times a week, but I never knew what to say to him. I was… grateful for everything he had done, but I couldn't bear to look him in the eyes. We never had much to talk about. And I hated how he would look at me. My reflection in the mirror was that of a corpse. I was losing weight rapidly, my hair was a tangled mess, and I was always in a hospital gown. I hated him seeing me like that. I hated him offering to help me over to the bathroom.

My new condition had brought out the worst in me. I knew it, and it was driving me crazy to have him always here, constantly seeing me like this. I could see the disappointment on his face every time he came through the door. The consistency of his visits baffled me. We never had any fun and I knew he'd rather be somewhere else. Sometimes we never even spoke at all.

After six weeks of protracted silence, I realized why he continued to visit me. The narrative of our relationship had materialized. He couldn't be the boy who abandoned me on what might easily be my death bed. Even if others had already done that, he would never accept that of himself. Even if it was what he really wanted.

On his final visit to the hospital, I broke our ubiquitous silence. I asked him to stop coming to see me.

His expression was blank for a moment, but then he nodded. Something quickly crossed his face— gratitude? Then he turned away, and disappeared into the hallway.

And that was that. That snowy day in the woods was forgotten.

The hospital isn't where you go to live, it's where you go to die. I certainly felt like my life was over after that day.

The doctors and nurses seemed to notice how withdrawn I was becoming. They started to make comments about how I'd probably get released soon. I never asked. Subconsciously, I kind of doubted the treatment and surgeries would work.

I was so ashamed of this hideous, crimson scar between my breasts. I would often stare at it, wondering when it would finally go away. It never did, not completely. But it was the only indicator of the passage of time that truly mattered to me.

The head cardiologist doesn't come around that often. Now, whenever I see her, I ignore her. She's got no interest in answering my questions and I've got no interest in being patronized.

Eventually, I started watching TV. Not for any reason in particular; I almost never watched it before my heart attack. But now, it felt nice to slip into the saccharine monotony the television offered and deactivate my own anxieties.

My parents set me up with a portable movie player in the early days here, one of the many lavish gifts they showered me with to obfuscate the fact that they didn't actually want to come visit me. But I relished it. Whenever the credits began to roll, I would immediately swap out the disc for another. All kinds of movies: Hollywood movies. Independent movies. Classic movies. Documentaries. As my parents visited less and less often, more and more movies showed up in my hospital room.

Eventually I accepted that I liked it better this way.

That was what my life was like.

Every day was the same. Winter eventually passed without me realizing it; I never looked out the window. All I could ever really see was a parking garage, anyway. The only difference between days was what movies I was watching. Even the meals were redundant.

Eventually, it became a relief. The ephemerality of each moment made it easier to cope with the reality of my situation. It was only when I paused to remember all the things I'd lost that the pain came rushing back.

There were some days I knew I was going to cry. I waited until I was alone and sobbed into my pillow. I didn't want anybody to see me. I didn't want to be showered with anyone's pity.

But those days started to disappear as the year yawned on. Eventually I forgot what it felt like to cry.

Today the doctor comes into my room and gives me a smile. I try to be friendly. I remember I used to be friendly, once; sociable, even. Wasn't I?

My parents follow behind her. It feels like it's been years since I saw them last. The two of them are even more dressed up than usual. ...What's going on? Am I going to die? In spite of the despair, I thought I was getting better.

The head cardiologist doesn't waste time making small talk about what I'm doing or even about the movie I'm watching. I move to shut it off.

"Good morning to you, Iwanako."

Smile, stupid. Smile. Don't look terrified.

"It looks like you can go home," she says. "Your heart is stronger, now, and as long as you take care of yourself, you should be alright. We have all your medication sorted out. We're getting the prescription ready for your parents."

I feel like I should be relieved, but I feel my stomach sink in preemptive dread. She hands a sheet of paper to my father, who rolls it up in his hands without reading it.

I glance at him in consternation. "Well, don't I get to see it?"

There's a pause, and reluctantly, he slides the paper over to me. I open it up and peer through it, but immediately realize I needn't have bothered. I don't have the mental dexterity to assimilate any of this. It's as though I've melted my brain watching action movies and bad television. In retrospect, I was never good at this, though, even when I was at my best.

I do understand it enough to know that there's an absolutely ludicrous amount of medication here. Medication with an even more ludicrous menagerie of side effects.

This is my life, now. I already knew as much.

"I know it's going to be hard on you," the doctor says.

_Do you really?_ "That's fine," I say.

"There's always new treatments for heart disease coming out, so try not to look at this as a life sentence."

A poor choice of words on her part. "That's fine," I say.

"Also, I had a chat with your parents and we agreed it would be best that you don't return to your old school."

They all pause, as if they expect me to be surprised. They're studying the expression on my face as though it's the surface of Mars. They're looking for some kind of reaction, perhaps indignation or anger, some sort of vivid emotion to shine through the grey. I'm going to disappoint them, then, because I think they're absolutely correct.

It's been so long since I last attended class there that I can hardly remember what it was like. It feels like it wasn't even me, like I can't remember those days in the first person. What would be the point of going back? Nothing would be the same. All my friends left me for dead, or at least willfully abandoned me to my own agonies. And... Hisao's still there. I don't think I could ever look him in the eyes again.

If I'm going to embrace the charade that my hopes and dreams are still intact, despite my having the permanence of a mayfly, then they're right. I need to purge the obstacles and unpleasant distractions from my life.

"...That's fine," I say.

My parents seem dumbfounded by my blasé response. The doctor breaks the silence. "We know your schooling is important, but..."

My attention drifts away. I don't need an explanation. They'll do what they'll do.

More talking, more sounds of superfluous justification. My father says something else. I tune out the noise and reach for an open can of juice. It's warm, now. I'm upset I didn't finish it earlier.

"Iwanako!"

Reflexively, I meet my mother's gaze, compelled by the urgency of her voice.

"Did you hear that?" My mother asks. "It has a 24-hour nursing staff and it's very close to a general hospital. You'll get to live on campus."

This is very unlike my parents. Why are they advocating this as if I had a choice in the matter? Am I such a broken thing now that even the ultimatums must be sugar-coated?

"Sounds good to me," I say, my voice barely breaking a whisper.

That seems to be the end of it. I don't truly have anything else to say. The conversation comes to a lull and I find myself contemplating what the weather will be like outside.

"HEY!"

I suddenly look up from my juice, surprised by the Doctor's outburst. She looks annoyed with me.

"Look, I don't think you realize how lucky you are. Compared to a lot of other patients I'm seeing right now, you're going to live a long time, provided you don't lie around _sulking_."

...What?

"If you're at all interested in having a decent life, you could start by adjusting that terrible attitude of yours!"

...So this is how she really feels about me? Her words are like a punch to the gut. I feel my lips part involuntarily, too startled by her frankness even to be offended by her lack of professionalism.

"If you ever plan on getting a job, you could do a lot worse than going to Yamaku Academy. In fact, you're _lucky _to go. You're getting a second chance; take my advice and make the best of it, because this hospital bed won't be here for you forever. We're going to give it to somebody who actually _is_ going to die."

Doing nothing to conceal her impatience, the doctor turns to my parents and informs them where the out-processing office is before walking briskly out of the room. My parents both look too flabbergasted to protest.

I'm feeling dazed. I can feel my stomach turn. I hadn't known I'd made somebody so disgusted with me... I hadn't realized anybody else thought I was becoming a horrible person.

"Iwanako," my father says, hastily moving in to soften the blow I've just been dealt, "We know this isn't exactly fair to you. Nothing about this has been fair to you."

He pauses, sighs, rubs his nose, and then continues, looking weary. "Lately, though, we've noticed a drastic change in your temperament, and we're very concerned. It's as though you've given up on everything."

Haven't I, though?

I've never had the fighting spirit I've admired in others. Everything in my life has been going downhill since that day in the snow. Rather than try to fight that reality, I accepted it.

This has been the first time I've truly been tested by anything, and I've failed miserably. I'm pathetic.

My mother places her hand on mine, stroking my knuckles with her thumb. I focus blankly into the enamel of her nail polish.

"We're trying to give you a fresh start. A new outlook on life. One of your father's business partners has a son at Yamaku, and we're told he loves it there. It's out in the country, it's beautiful. And I can visit every weekend, if that's what you want. We just want you to be happy."

I realize there's sincere concern in his voice, and for some reason it floods me with sorrow. The conviction I had in my parents' indifference is starting to crumble. It should be a relief, but it's just the opposite. I'm beginning to doubt everything.

Against my better judgment, I manage to look my parents in the eyes. Both of them actually look dejected. It's the first time in a while that I've felt like my parents truly cared about my feelings. Has my fatalism scared them so thoroughly that they could no longer be complacent? Or have I simply been misreading their feelings this whole time?

It doesn't matter. I feel the weight behind my face and I suddenly know I'm about to cry, but I can't come up with an excuse to get them out of here so I can do it in private. And then I run out of time as the dam bursts and the tears start flowing out as all my regrets rush in, no longer kept at bay by my barricade of ennui.

A new start.

Okay. I'll make the best of it. I will. I'm finally starting to see who I am, and it's terrifying.

More than dying, the thought of dying as _this person _is the most frightening of all.


	3. Slow Code to China

I don't remember anything else about that day. I was ushered out of the hospital so quickly, it felt like a jailbreak, as if my parents worried the doctors might soon change their minds.

I spent that night at home for the first time since my heart attack. I thought my room would feel reassuringly familiar after so long in the hospital, but enough time had passed that the tables had turned. I'd spent a lot of time personalizing and beautifying my room, but now it seemed… uncanny. It wasn't how I remembered it. The atmosphere felt heavier, somehow. The air didn't smell right.

The flowers I'd placed in the windowsill in February had died from four months of negligence. Now, nothing remained but dried brown husks, jutting out morbidly from macabre pots of dirt. Besides that, nothing about my room had changed. My bed was still prepared the exact same way I'd left it four months ago, and an unfinished homework assignment was sitting on my desk, waiting, absurdly, to be completed. My desk calendar sat faithfully behind it, still displaying that date in February when my entire life fell to pieces. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to correct it.

The recently-laundered school uniform I'd never wear again. The posters of musicians whose music I no longer had any desire to hear. The book on my nightstand I didn't remember starting and didn't think I'd ever finish. The photographs of vacations and class trips so nebulous in my memories, they felt like mythology. The stuffed animals whose friendly, earnest expressions made me want to weep.

My room was filled with my belongings. So why did it feel so much like I was invading a stranger's room? How come none of my possessions felt like my own? Why couldn't I overcome this chilling sensation that I was excavating the bedroom of a girl who'd recently passed away?

It felt so ghoulish just to lie in my own bed. I didn't think I'd ever get to sleep, but I underestimated the soporific potency of my nighttime medications. The enforced drowsiness ushered me into unconsciousness, ignorant of my waking anxieties.

—

My mother gently shakes me awake, and by the time my eyes open has already assembled my morning medications, next to a steaming cup of tea.

Right now, I'm too groggy to make out much of what she's saying. She's stroking my hair, though, and smiling warmly, so I can't help but smile back. It's too early for me to recall my feelings about anything.

I take a sip of tea. It's the good stuff, Baihao Yinzhen with rose pearls and a touch of lychee honey. Sweet enough that I'm able, however temporarily, to forget the bitterness of the endless pills and tablets she eases into my hand. The last time I remember my mother pampering me like this, I was just a little girl. I can't even remember the last time anybody's come into my room to wake me up. I've always been early riser.

Or, at least, I used to be. Now, it's anybody's guess.

It's an important day for me. Tomorrow, I'm starting school at Yamaku. This is the last day I'll be spending in this city, at least for a while. The first day since my heart attack that I'm free to walk around like a normal person.

It's the first day of the rest of my life. Since everything that's happened, what was once an insipid platitude now has a disturbing sort of resonance with me.

I think it's an important day for my mother, too, though she'll never say it aloud, not to me. It's the first day of her restitution towards me. She feels guilty for everything that's happened to me, like she's somehow directly responsible for my suffering. Of course she isn't; no one is, but could anyone convince their mother otherwise?

Truthfully, if anybody feels guilty, it's me. I've understood since long time ago I was not my parents' favorite child, but as long as they held any affection for me at all, I never felt any envy or resentment. Since yesterday, however, it's started to feel like I've dragged them into caring for my well-being, like I've manipulated them into treasuring the time they spend with me. It feels like acting out.

"Come on, honey, take a shower and get ready," she says. "We're going shopping today, remember?"

I nod. "Right."

I smile again and disembark from the bed, drifting towards the bathroom like a dislodged cobweb. I already know she's going to shower me with gifts today. With any luck, it'll make the two of us feel better, distract us from our problems, maybe make the pain go away a little. I can't say that the whole time I was lying on a hospital bed, I was dying to go to the mall, but as far as quick fixes go, this one definitely bears the most promise.

I need new clothes, anyway. I've lost too much weight. This negligee used to be flattering on me, but now it may as well have been the hospital gown.

I pull it over my head and fold it up next to the bathroom sink. On the interior side of the bathroom door, I can see my whole body in the full-length mirror. Waifish. Emaciated. Even my face seems different, more angular and gaunt. There are dark circles under my eyes that I never had in February.

I never thought myself one of the great beauties of our school. I looked… nice, I think. I think I received a respectable amount of attention. I remember the compliments. This is the first time I've really looked at my body in natural light since being hospitalized, though, and… I don't think I'll get those compliments anymore. I look frightening, even without the angry scarlet line cascading down my sternum.

As the warm water from the shower caresses me, my mind begins to wander. I can't help but think about tomorrow. Yamaku Academy… It's a school for ruined and defective youths like me. But that's all I really know about it. That could mean anything.

I remember seeing something on television, some kind of educational show or news program or something. It was about a baby in America with some kind of rare genetic mutation. As a result, she was born without a face. Her entire head was some sort of misshapen, malformed monstrosity, barely recognizable as human. It suddenly occurs to me there could be kids at Yamaku with that problem. There could be several, even.

The girls could all look like that, I suppose. Compared to them, even now, I suppose I'd look like a _goddess_. So beautiful, I could have my pick of _all_ the mangled boys in the school.

…

Ugh. I've never been so disgusted with myself in my life. What kind of person would think this way? When was I _ever_ this deranged?

This is something I need to work on. I'm not worthy of anybody's affection with such horrible things in my head. And everybody's counting on me to force them out.

—

Horrible things in my mind or not, my mother still took me on a shopping spree. Karma, if it's even a real thing, doesn't seem to take me into consideration.

Going to the shopping center was… strange. I'm unused to being around so many people now. I have to admit, I expected to be stared at, even though my scar was well-hidden under my shirt. Even my tightest clothes felt loose on me, and I thought I looked ridiculous. Maybe I'm already beginning to regard myself as grotesque.

I managed to find clothes that managed to make me look like something other than a cadaver, though; mostly items with nonexistent necklines, to keep my scar concealed, and long skirts to downplay my bony legs. I'm leaving it up to faith that a situation won't come up where I'll be forced into a swimsuit. I suppose in that case, I could cover up the scar with some foundation.

There were moments I thought for sure a piece of clothing I liked was too expensive to purchase. My mother was adamant, though. We've always been fairly well-off, but this display of generosity made me squirm a little. The idea that she'd be so determined not to let anything obstruct my happiness makes me feel really sheepish. I've never been treated with such importance before.

She's doing a good job, though. I was skeptical that a shopping trip would have any ability to lighten my spirits, but with the bags in my hand, I'm starting to feel, well, renewed, in a way. It's like the opposite of that foreboding feeling I felt in my room last night. These are all new things. No baggage from the past. No regrets.

To cap off the day, my mother took me to get a haircut. It's been a while since the last time I've gotten one. This isn't the same salon I usually go to. This is the upscale one with the ridiculous prices. The waiting area is filled with posh, trendy-looking women wearing cutting-edge fashions. At least, I _think _they're cutting-edge. It's been four months since I've seen any clothes other than scrubs and lab coats.

I expect to be waiting a while, but not long after the clock hits what my mother informs me is my scheduled appointment time, a cheery and chic-looking stylist calls me over to her chair and wraps me in a cutting cape.

"So, what were you looking to do today?"

I freeze, as though struck with stage fright. As foolish as it sounds… I honestly don't know the answer. In the past, I've always worn my hair just to my shoulders, with a fringe. I don't think I've changed it from that simple formula since grade school. My hair grows relatively fast, though, and in its current, neglected state, it's the longest it's ever been. The fringe is gone completely, having settled into a simple rift straight down the middle, and I can feel my hair tickling the center of my back.

The elegant solution would be simply to go with the haircut I've always had, but… No. I can't bear to do it. It's just… obsolete. Obsolete like my room, my old clothes, that calendar on my desk. Outmoded, in a way I find more than a little jarring. It feels like denial. Like pretending I never collapsed in the snow back in February. Like pretending I don't have these dark circles under my eyes.

I've got no interest in going down that road. I can't help but feel certain it would only harm me.

"I think I'm going to grow it out, so just a trim would be fine, please."

The stylist grins, and shoots me the thumbs-up. "You got it."

I feel a fluttering in my stomach, but it's a good sensation as the stylist's scissors begin to tap away at my hair. My eyes slowly begin to shut, my body beginning to enter a sublime state of contentment. Despite my very real apprehensions about going to Yamaku, it's liberating, knowing I won't have to undertake some effete struggle to restore the things I've already lost.

Everything right now is such a mess, but I'm being allowed to just leave that mess where it sits and move forward. Even if that just means something as simple as retiring a haircut that doesn't work anymore.

After a couple moments, the tapping of the scissors slows to a stop, and there's a brief silence before I look up to see the stylist contemplating me with a mildly chagrined expression.

"Um, miss? Would you like me to add color today as well? To darken it a little?"

I can't help but raise a baffled eyebrow at her. My hair is completely sable. It's not going to get any darker. "What for?"

She pauses, as if trying to come up with a diplomatic answer, before pulling a hand mirror off the table and holding it close to my face, gesturing to my temples with her thumb and forefinger.

"Well, you can see it's a little lighter here and here."

…?!

Grey.

Not many. Just a couple of strands on both sides of my head, at the roots. I had never even noticed until this moment. But they're there, completely obvious if you're looking for them, grey as granite. I… this… I don't even know what to say. This is horrifying.

I'm not even eighteen yet. How could this possibly be happening to me? Those roots weren't grey four months ago. Was the stress and anxiety from the surgery enough to make me start going prematurely grey? Or is this just serendipitous misfortune? Why would my own body be so perfectly calibrated for crushing my spirit?

"Miss? Are you alright?"

I know she's waiting for an answer, but I need to take a moment to address the implications of this first.

"I… sorry. I need a moment to think."

I glance over to the waiting area. My mother's still sitting there, casually reading a book, oblivious to my state of disturbance. Mother is only forty years old. In spite of that fact, or perhaps because of it, she's still incredibly beautiful, almost absurdly so. My father's always made more than enough to provide us with an embarrassingly carefree lifestyle. I wonder if Mother was ever troubled by _anything_ before my heart revealed itself to be so unserviceable.

She doesn't have any grey in her hair yet, not that I'm aware of. I can't help but realize that I'm not even going to live to be as old as she is at this moment. They say I'll be fortunate to live past thirty.

If I'm going to die at thirty, than aren't I already over the hill? I'm more than halfway through my life. Speaking in terms of our lifespans, aren't I actually older than Mother, now? Maybe it's only fair that I go grey before she does.

She finally notices me staring at her, and smiles, winking at me. Even now, she's so poised, so unflappable. Preposterously, I feel a pang of jealousy for mother's youthfulness.

I heave a sigh. This is stupid.

The moment I begin to turn my truncated lifespan into an identity, I may as well give up on self-improvement entirely. I didn't just buy a whole new wardrobe's worth of fashionable clothing and accessories just to go around feeling like an old woman. And I can think of nothing more characteristic of an old woman than going out of my way just to bring my hair back to its original color. Just to restore what's been lost.

Dying at thirty doesn't mean I'm an old woman. It means I'm _never _going to be an old woman. It means I'm going to die beautiful. Perhaps if my attitude was a little more like my mother's, these grey roots would never have appeared in the first place.

So let's do something crazy. Something youthful.

I make eye contact with the stylist, who has been waiting patiently for my wave of angst to disperse. "Um, I don't really feel like dyeing my hair just to cover up a few strands. Couldn't we do something in the opposite direction?"

She rubs her chin contemplatively. "What, like a blonde streak?"

I nod vigorously, running my fingers across the locks of hair at the front of my face. "Oh, blonde streaks, could you do that?"

She nods. "Sure, it's kind of eccentric, but under the circumstances… Yeah, I could definitely make it look cool for you. How about just lightening everything in front?"

I nod. "Please do what you think is best."


	4. The Shallow End

My mother keeps moving, vexed, from one side of the gate to the other, looking for some kind of cleverly-concealed electronic panel with which to page the school. After four fruitless cycles of this, she moves back over to me and places a hand on her hip, looking defeated.

"Well, I'm out of ideas," she sighs.

It's certainly an impregnable-looking gate, and it's kind of puzzling to me that it would be closed like this at the start of the school day. This is the only entrance I can see, though. I take a step forward and push lightly on the left door. It opens, without any resistance at all.

Mother blinks at me. "Oh, I thought we tried that already."

We kind of stand there awkwardly for a moment, before I decide to end the tension and head in. Mother follows along silently. I won't tell anybody about this if she won't.

Inside the gate, there's a paved path surrounded by some impressive and fairly expensive-looking landscaping. It's more like what you'd see at a golf course than a school. With what I'm given to understand about Yamaku's funding, it's almost certainly professionally maintained.

I've always loved natural beauty, but this isn't really my style. I prefer nature preserves and arboretums to any kind of heavily-engineered landscape architecture. This sort of stodgy aesthetic tends to go over well in retirement centers and nursing homes, the kind of place where caged finches are put on display in day rooms for the lukewarm amusement of geriatric spinsters in squeaking wheelchairs.

Well, Yamaku ought to have the "wheelchair" part down, at any rate.

That's a nasty thought, though, and counterintuitive. I wanted to be here. For all intents and purposes, this is where I belong, at least for the time being. It's unrealistic to be unhappy just because this place can't make me forget I have a problem.

My mother makes a comment about the buildings looking nice. I nod in agreement. They're certainly different from what I'm used to. It gives me hope that there are other pleasant surprises to be found here.

We got here early, so there are a handful of students walking to their morning classes, but not many. I don't get a good look at any of them, but from far off they look okay — no girls without faces or conjoined twins or anything like that. It's kind of reassuring. I'd probably feel like I was trespassing otherwise.

Before long, the path forks and I realize my mother and I are going to have to part ways. I need to head down to the main building, while Mother's going to bring my belongings to the dorms before heading home. This is… probably the last time I'm going to see her for a while.

Well, it's not as dramatic as all that, actually. She said she would visit on the weekends if I wanted, and I'm sure I will, eventually. I certainly enjoyed our outing yesterday. Anyway, Mother doesn't maintain a busy schedule by any means.

Even though I've already resolved not to think of this as a momentous occasion, it doesn't stop my mother from pulling me into a loving embrace, cradling me in her arms and whispering reassurances into my ear, like I'm still a kindergartener. It's a little embarrassing, and there are undoubtedly bemused students watching, but I don't have the stamina to resist it. And, frankly, I have to admit it's sort of nice, after all this time. I can't help but think about how finite these moments are, especially now.

"Mother… I'll be fine," I finally say. "I'll be sure to call you this evening."

She pulls away, and the air that fills the space between us feels cold against my skin. She doesn't look at all troubled, but there's a sort of amateurish quality to her mannerisms, as though this is the first day of a new job.

"Is there anything you need me to get you before I head back home?"

I shake my head in the negative. "If I think of something, I'll call you, I promise."

She sighs, and gingerly runs a hand through my hair. "I guess we'll see each other later, then."

Not wanting to drag this moment out, I nod and smile, resolutely turning toward the main building before she can present me an opportunity to gaze morosely at her.

As I stand in front of the distinguished-looking building, I feel as though I'm overlooking something significant, but this isn't the time or the place for navel-gazing. It's a pastime I'd be best-suited to giving up entirely.

The handle of the front door feels light against my fingers. A surge of anxiety flares up inside me, and I try to focus on my reflection in the glass window. The newly-golden streaks in my brand-new haircut. The immaculately-applied premium cosmetics. The sparkling moonstone earrings. My white gold claddagh ring and silver charm bracelet. All the blessings my mother rained upon me yesterday.

_Who is that girl? _I think, trying to force sincerity upon myself. _Wow, she's totally cool!_

My reflection quirks an eyebrow, as though wordlessly asking if I'm an idiot. Oh, to hell with this. I open the door.

A tall, sloppy-looking middle-aged guy is looking straight at me as I head inside. I suddenly realize from his side of the door, he could have been watching me making faces at my reflection in the window. Just like clockwork, I can feel my face going crimson.

"You must be… um…Daijou… Daito…"

"Daidouji," I interject, trying my best to meet his eyes. They're weary ones.

He nods, and shows no reaction to his obvious failure to remember more than one character in my name. I get the impression that these sorts of encounters are something he's good at through repetition, not any kind of social savvy.

"…Daidouji. It's nice to meet you. I'll be your homeroom and science teacher. My name is Mutou. Welcome."

We shake hands, though mine is practically tissue paper.

"The head nurse wanted to see you for a brief check-in. You're here early, so we can get it done now, if you like."

This seems like one of those illusory options. "Ah, y-yes," I stammer. "Since we have the time, and all…"

Mutou nods again, a little too vigorously. "Well, then, if you'll just follow me… It's actually back outside. It's the next building over."

He holds the door open for me to head out, and the morning sun shines down on me once again, a little bit earlier than expected.

It's a surprisingly brief walk down a paved path from the main building. I actually hadn't realized this was a completely separate structure, at first glance. There's not much distinguishing it from the rest of the Yamaku architecture.

"This is the administrative building," Mutou explains tiredly. "There's nothing 'fun' about it, but try to keep it in mind, since the nursing staff has their offices here."

He's not a good tour guide, but I suppose he doesn't need to be. Truthfully, I shouldn't get attached to him, because he's going to despise me as soon as he discovers how bad at science I am.

As we walk inside, he leads me to a door and loudly raps on it before I get a chance to examine the placard. A muffled voice chimes back from inside, so Mutou pushes the door open and walks inside. I'm not sure what to do, so I stand in the hallway until I'm called in.

"I've got that new student here to see you," Mutou says, brusquely, to a man out of my field of vision.

"Oh, cool. Great timing; I've actually got her file in front of me right this minute. Send her in," a much younger man's voice says from behind him.

"Send her in…?" Mutou turns around, bewildered, to discover me still standing in the hallway.

"Oh," he says, walking back in my direction. He gestures to the door with his thumb and forefinger. "Go ahead, this is the Head Nurse. I'll wait outside until you're finished."

He slumps against the wall of the hallway, looking bored, and I nod dumbly and enter the room. It smells faintly of latex and antibacterial soap.

The man in the office chair is surprisingly young-looking, and handsome in a coltish way. He's got these vivid blue eyes with a lively and sardonic bent to them. It's a little jarring. I feel cold air on my lower lip and wonder how long they've been parted.

"Um, good morning," I offer weakly.

The Head Nurse grins, and it's so mirthful that a part of me wonders if I'm at the right school, after all.

"Hi there! Nice to meet you. I'm the Head Nurse, like he said. Feel free to call me 'Nurse,' though, everyone does."

He's holding his hand out, and I move to shake it, managing to give a firmer handshake this time around.

He leans back into his chair and gestures to an open binder on his desk. "So," he says nonchalantly, "Iwanako Daidouji. chronic arrhythmia and a related congenital heart deficiency. Ah, and it looks like you needed a neurothekioma removed, too."

He gestures for me to sit down in one of the other chairs. I'm more than happy to do so; hearing about that neurothekeoma is starting to make me feel sick all over again.

I realize he's been silent for a few seconds. Is he waiting for me to affirm what he said? It's all in the file, right?

"That's… that's correct," I say, my voice barely greater than a squeak.

He nods. "Right, well, I'm sure you'll hear all about the school grounds soon enough, so I just want to get you up to speed on a few things."

He explains to me the medical facilities they have available, and reiterates the 24-hour staff on hand that I think my parents said something about.

Another silence. Those blue eyes are like searchlights, chasing down my own. "Well, that's very reassuring," I finally say.

He doesn't respond right away, and his eyes narrow. I'm not quite sure how to take it. I wasn't being sarcastic, or anything.

Finally it breaks, and he turns back to the file. "Well, then, it looks like you've already got your medications, that's good. Don't forget to take those. Other than that, do you partake in any kind of, ah, athletic activity? Maybe… _naginata-jutsu_?"

It's a joke. I know how to force myself to laugh at a boy's jokes, so I giggle politely, though I think thus far I've been too laconic for it to sound natural.

As for athletic activity… No. I've always been terrible at sports. I never liked them, either.

"Definitely not," I answer.

He nods, as if that was what he was expecting. "Well, at any rate, any kind of concussion to your chest area could be very dangerous to your heart, so I'm going to have to recommend you stay away from any activities like that. For now, anyway."

He scratches his head, looking pensive. "The previous heart attack wasn't caused by a concussion to the chest area, was it…? Your file doesn't say."

The question feels uncomfortably invasive. I find myself breaking his gaze to stare down at my lap, considering how to handle the question. It's a crime, how obvious I'm being.

"N, no."

Another pause, but he leaves me be and looks back in his file. "Well, still, you need to keep your body healthy, so a little exercise will help with that. You got that nasty myxoma excised, so if you had dyspnea problems before, they should be a lot better now."

I don't want to hear about _that_ anymore. It's horrific.

"Just take it easy for a while," he continues, "brisk walks, light jogging, that sort of thing. Or you could swim, even. Did Mutou mention the pool here?"

I shake my head. "I don't know how to swim, though." And, anyway, there's that whole swimsuit issue to deal with.

He chuckles. "Don't worry about it. Just walk around in the shallow end. I wouldn't want you diving or swimming laps right now, anyway. You shouldn't overexert yourself."

I give him a wan smile. "I know."

His expression gets more serious. "Absolutely no risks. Take care of yourself. And, ah, there's one more thing."

He looks a little uncomfortable.

"You know you can't take oral birth control, right?"

…!

_Did he just_

I stop dead in my tracks, and look up at him, aghast. "Wh, what?"

He holds his hands up in the air, as if to defend himself from a beating. "No, I didn't mean… I'm just letting you know, with the medications you're taking, that sort of thing really isn't an option for you. Even if there weren't any adverse effects from taking them with your medications, they'd still by their very nature exacerbate your condition, so… just keep in mind that you need to use a different form of—"

I nod vigorously. "I understand." The easiest way to end this conversation is to acquiesce to everything.

The Nurse sighs, obviously glad he's gotten through that part. "Good, that's it then. Come to me if you need anything."

"Y… yes. I'll be sure to," I stammer, standing up from my seat considerably faster than feels natural. Bowing forward politely, I wish him a nice day and exit from his office as quickly as I can without breaking into a run.

I'm starting to feel nauseated. I know he was looking out for my best interests, and that is, after all, why I'm going to school here — but I wish, more than anything, that birth control was a subject he'd elected not to touch upon. That was a lost cause, though; there was never any chance he _wouldn't _mention it. It is, after all, a very significant complication of my condition. One I've been aware of for a long time now.

Making love will kill me.

Basically.

Oral birth control will kill me. The exertion from lovemaking _might _kill me, eventually. If I were to become pregnant, though… I'd die.

I learned that two months ago. My cardiologist explained to me that it's not medically recommended for women with my condition to have children. Even if I somehow made it all the way through pregnancy, I'd have virtually no chance of surviving the final stages. My heart is just too weak to carry me through it.

Even on the most fundamental level of being a woman, I'm broken. Nonfunctional. Inadequate. The Nurse unintentionally reminded me of that. Forced these thoughts back to the forefront of my consciousness, so that I don't forget how much of a piece of glass I am.

And now, in this state of mind, I'm expected to introduce myself to the people I'm going to spend the entire year with.

…I already want my mother.

"Are you finished?"

I turn my head and realize Mutou's still waiting for me out in the hall. Immersed as I was in my own thoughts, I'd forgotten he was there, or even where I was.

I'm in too sour a mood to do anything else than nod. I feel like garbage. Starting the day out by seeing the head nurse was a horrible idea. If my condition is allowed to be the center of attention for even a moment, its gravity swells up and sucks everything into it. I just want to sit down and stare at a wall for a few hours.

"Well," the teacher says, realizing I don't have anything else to add, "We should head back to the classroom. Everybody should be waiting."

I spend the next couple of moments focusing on my own breathing as he opens the exterior door and we exit the building.


	5. New Game (Plus)

_Hi, I'm Iwanako Daidouji, and I'm here because I can't confess to a boy without almost dying from a severe heart attack._

Or how about:

_It's nice to meet you all; I'm Iwanako Daidouji and this is the greatest catastrophe of my entire life._

No, that's no good. Maybe this:

_How do you do? I'm Iwanako Daidouji, and I'm a very convenient friend to have, because I could drop dead any day now. No long-term commitment! I'm also quite talented at ikebana..._

"Er, I'd rather not introduce myself, actually," I say demurely.

Mutou nods. "I understand; it's no problem. Well, then, if you'll just come with me…"

I stare at his back for a moment, sighing quietly, then follow along, retrieving a compact from my bag to contemplate my reflection as we both trudge methodically up the stairs, in my case from my oppressive melancholy, and in his because trudging just seems to be his preferred way of getting someplace.

I just saw my reflection a few minutes ago, but focusing on something other than where I'm going helps me combat my anxieties. Even I can see the exhaustion and sadness in my silver eyes, and I make a few attempts at changing my expression to appear more cool and controlled.

And then I'm struck with a question: What does it matter? Should I even _care _about what my classmates are going to see in me? Why? So that I can make a new circle of friends with whom to waste my time gossiping? Except that _these _friends are on dialysis or motorized wheelchairs? _That's _going to fill the void my condition left in me?

I don't have a good answer by the time Mutou begins to open the door to classroom 3-3. I hastily place the compact back in my bag and put my agonizing on hold.

Mutou stares inside the classroom for a moment, regarding it with a bemused expression and checking his watch. "Oh, there's still ten minutes before class starts," he says, looking a little surprised. "You can just come in and take a seat until we're ready to begin, if you'd like."

He walks towards his desk at the head of the room, and I follow him in. It's a well-lit room, like most classrooms, and the far wall has two large fenestrated windows with a nice view of the school grounds. Other than the fact that the floor is hardwood paneling instead of linoleum tiles, which is admittedly nice, there's nothing remarkable or even interesting about the classroom itself.

Most of the desks are still empty. Only five or six students are already in the classroom. "Where should I sit?"

Mutou slackly gestures towards the far wall of the room. "Your desk is in the middle row, right next to the window. Feel free to put your belongings down."

A window seat… That's something to be thankful for, at least. I thank him and seat myself at my desk, resting my hands atop my bag. There's only one student sitting nearby, the girl in the desk in front of me, and she twists around to face me.

"New student, huh?"

I glance upwards, meeting her eyes. "Er… yes," I say softly. "My name is Iwanako Daidouji."

She smiles. "I'm Molly Kapur. Welcome to Yamaku."

Her skin is ecru in color, and from her facial features and name it seems apparent that she's foreign, ethnically if not nationally. She doesn't seem to have an accent though. There's surely a story behind that, but I won't get to hear it today, if ever.

"Thanks," I say, smiling back, but I know it doesn't reach my eyes. I realize suddenly with a bit of a shock that this girl, Molly, is the first person my age I've spoken to since… Well, she won't realize it, but she's inadvertently etched herself into what is sure to be an auspicious memory of mine.

"First day jitters? You've got this faraway look in your eyes…"

"N, nothing like that," I reply. "It's just… been a while since I was in a classroom."

The gravity of what I'm saying only hits me after I finish speaking. I felt like the implication was vague, but her expression softens at my comment and I can see the revelation in her eyes.

"Oh…"

Great.

There's an awkward pause in the conversation before she continues. "Well—"

"_Woohoo, new student~!"_

A voice like the synthesis of a piccolo and a foghorn. I'm so startled, I nearly jump out of my seat. Reflexively turning to face the owner of the voice, I almost can't believe what I see.

The girl in front of me, her fists triumphantly on her hips like she's presiding over some sort of dynastic genocide, has hair as pink as a carnation, styled in large ringlets like a British noblewoman. Before I can even say anything, she suddenly begins gesticulating with her arms so wildly that I flinch from the fear of an assault.

"So you're really the new student?" The girl says, her hands going every which way as she bellows out the words. "Well, yeah, she must be, right? I guess we weren't getting a boy after all."

What? She's talking to herself? _What?_

I'm so baffled, so shocked, that I don't realize I've been leaning away from her in horror until the back of my head gently bumps against the far wall. Who is this person…?! Is she crazy? Do I have to sit next to her?

I glance over at Molly, but she's just giving me a sympathetic expression. She opens her mouth to say something, but it's immediately drowned out by the human non sequitur standing over me.

"Waha~! Welcome to Yamaku Academy!" Her hands continue to flail wildly. "I'm Misha! We'll be sitting right next to each other!"

Oh _god—_

"This is Shicchan, the class representative! She says 'it's nice to meet you!'"

She says…?

'Misha' shifts slightly and for the first time I notice that she's standing with another girl, roughly the same height as her (and a few inches taller than me.) The bespectacled girl has short, dark hair with delicate, almost elfin features. She has an intense, scrutinizing gaze, one that's hard to ignore; I notice it quickly and covertly falling upon my hair, my makeup, my jewelry… Finally she stops and meets my eyes, shooting me an enigmatic smile.

I am so confused.

"Ah… It's nice to meet you, too," I say, for the lack of any better idea. "My name is Iwanako."

Now it's this girl's— 'Shicchan's' turn to flail her hands, and it is only from Misha's studious examination of the other girl's gestures that my addled mind is able to deduce that they're speaking sign language. I didn't even know we'd _have_ any deaf students in our class. It would have been courteous for somebody to mention that at some point…

"Good morning, everyone; we're going to get started," Mutou says from the front of the room. I had forgotten he was still here. "Today, we have a new student."

He turns to make eye contact with me. "Would you please come to the front for a moment?"

Oh, right, I'd forgotten about the class introduction. Showtime, I suppose. Nodding respectfully, I stand up and begin to head over to the teacher's desk. I brush past Misha as I walk– she smells as pink as she looks, like a freshly opened pack of bubblegum.

I take my place standing awkwardly next to Mutou. From the front of the room, I realize that the entire classroom has filled up while I was struggling through the encounter with the apparent class representative and her pink friend. There's not even twenty students in the classroom, but all their eyes are upon me, and the attention makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. That's a new development; I would have felt shy, but not uncomfortable, prior to my experience in the hospital.

Determined not to shrivel under the spotlight, I try to distract myself by glancing over some of my new classmates, just as they're glancing over me. To my relief, and mild surprise, they don't look too different from my old class. It was probably silly of me to have gotten myself worked up over the prospect of girls missing their faces. No dialysis machines either, thankfully. Not even a wheelchair.

At first I feel a sense of incredulity that any of these students actually have anything wrong with them, other than Shicchan, but then I notice a dusky-skinned girl in the front row missing her left hand. No, these students have problems like mine, but they're more subtle than I expected.

Am I as subtle as they are? I suppose I must be; my scar is completely concealed, but it doesn't feel that way at all. I feel like my infirmity radiates off of me like a beacon.

Absurdly, as my gaze drifts across the students in the back row, one of them, a tall, dark-haired girl, covers her face with her hands, ostensibly to prevent me from looking at her. In a way, it's like looking into a very skittish mirror.

As I look away from her, I can't help but notice that some of the boys in the center row are leering at me. A sandy-haired guy in the center row, particularly, with an ugly hat and a bandage on his ear. The way he seems to be undressing me with his eyes makes me feel even more uncomfortable than before, and I quickly decide I'm done visually appraising my classmates. I shouldn't even have started.

Mutou has been trailing on, talking a lot but ultimately saying very little. "Please welcome our newest classmate," he finally says, clapping his hands. The rest of the class follows along and I feel a rush of embarrassment at the gesture.

_Why are you applauding me? _I want to ask. _Don't applaud me. I'm not going to do anything worthy of it._

After the clapping subsides, silence washes over the room, and everybody seems to be waiting for somebody to do something.

I realize all the eyes are still on me. What, they were actually expecting me to give an introduction? I told Mutou I didn't want to give one, and I truly don't, but I feel a voiceless sense of peer pressure, and finally crumple against it.

"Ah, I'm… Iwanako Daidouji," I offer, weakly.

The class begins to look at me in apparent consternation, and for a moment I don't know what I did wrong.

"You'll want to speak up a bit," the teacher offers.

I can feel myself redden. It's been so long since I've had to speak to a whole room like this that I've forgotten how my own voice sounds. I was always soft-spoken, more so now, after four months of not having much to say.

"Iwanako Daidouji," I say, speaking louder. My voice sounds squeaky and shaky to me, but at least it's audible. "I'm from Shibuya."

I decide to leave it at that. I don't know what else there is to be said.

More silence; I'm getting a lot of blank, glassy-eyed expressions. Some people are giving me puzzled looks. One girl in the front row is literally asleep.

Maybe there's still time for me to track Mother down and head back to Tokyo with her? This was a nice little experiment.

Mutou, realizing I'm not a very loquacious girl, finally picks up from there and speaks a handful of platitudes about being welcoming and getting along. The students glance back to him and I notice Misha continuing to speak sign language in the middle row. I still don't know what to think of her. Well, frankly I think she's insane, but hopefully she's something other than _that._

As I'm pondering if her strange hairstyle isn't some regrettable new fashion trend I missed during my long hospitalization, Mutou finishes speaking and the classroom starts applauding again.

I really don't care for it. _Quit it, _is what I'd say, if I had no self-control and wanted to push away the entire class on the first day of school.

Mutou turns to me, and the other students, realizing he's not addressing them for a moment, go back to engaging each other in a low, ambient hum of conversation.

"Today we're doing some group work, so you'll have an opportunity to talk to some of the other students. Is that alright?"

"Uh… sure," I stammer.

"You can go ahead and work with Hakamichi, the class representative. Shizune Hakamichi. You already met her, I believe. She can help you get up to speed on the coursework. And feel free to ask her any questions you might have about the school. Who else would be able to do that better, right?"

…Actually, I was the class rep our first year, but it's not an experience I'd want to repeat. I can't remember... How did I even get that position? I don't think it made me any more of an expert on the school than anybody else, but there's no point to arguing this.

In fact, Mutou has already walked away. Misha waves me back over as I sigh resignedly and return to my seat.

Her enormous gold eyes peer at me. For some reason, she reminds me of a tanuki.

"So… I guess we're going to work together," I say, finally.

"We sure are~! I'm really excited!" She practically shouts when she speaks, and this time I really _do _ jump. Her voice is so loud that, by comparison, I'm not even sure if I've said anything yet. Her face breaks out into a grin and, inexplicably, the sight of her cheerful expression is almost suffocating.

The two girls start signing something to each other, and I stare at them curiously. Though neither of them is actually speaking, I feel like I can't get a word in edgewise. For her part, Molly has already turned to work with the other two students in the row ahead of us, and I can't seem to get her attention.

"…Misha?"

She stops signing for a moment and turns to me. "Mm-hmm?"

"Shizune… is… deaf? And you translate?"

Misha's signing as I speak and I realize that my question is answered before I even finish asking it. A part of me feels a sudden pang of regret at the insensitivity of the question, but if _these _two are about to chastise me for an absence of tact, that's quite a double-standard.

Misha just keeps grinning, though. "Of course, Nakochan! Why do you think we're signing to each other? Were you confused? I'm sorry! Wahaha~!"

Her laughter is like wind chimes flying through a plate glass window. I just can't get over how much energy she seems to have.

Shizune, for her part, just regards me with a blank expression. I have no idea what she thinks about me, but I'm inclined to think she's not as thrilled with me as Misha is.

Hey, wait. "Did you call me Nakochan?"

Misha nods emphatically. "Sure, why not? You seem like a Nakochan to me!"

I sigh again. Nakochan... I'm not fond of that nickname, but if it makes Misha happy it's not worth it to press the issue. As long as it doesn't catch on with anybody else, I don't care.

Suddenly Mutou comes around to place the assignments on our desks, and as I gingerly pick mine up to inspect it, I'm temporarily distracted from my two new keepers by the dawning realization that I know absolutely nothing about any of the material in this assignment. I can't even remember what some of the _words_ mean.

I glance at Hakamichi to say something about it, but she and Misha are again preoccupied speaking to each other. I try to refocus on pondering the assignment, but there's something eye-catching about the frantic, somatic conversation my new classmates are having, and I begin to stare.

I've only ever met a deaf person one other time in my life. It was about a year and a half ago. I was at the train station, getting Lipovitan from a machine, when a stocky, middle-aged salaryman walked up to me and waved a 5000-yen note in my face. I couldn't figure out what he was asking me for, and he only answered my questions with a disquieting groaning sound, so, vexed, I turned away briskly and darted off. It was only later, as I was boarding the train, that I realized that he was just a deaf man asking me for change. I felt pretty bad about that for a while.

Maybe I should have anticipated that I'd have deaf classmates. I probably could have learned at least the basic greetings in sign before coming here…But I guess it doesn't really matter if Misha's always going to translate.

"Hakamichi," I say, interrupting their voiceless conversation, "I'm not familiar with any of this content." I hold up the paper in my hand for emphasis. "I don't think I'm going to be much help on this assignment."

The two girls briefly stop signing for a moment to regard me curiously. There's something in the class rep's eyes that makes me wary, but then she smiles confidently and begins signing rapidly. Misha just grins again.

"Haha~! You shouldn't get worked up over _that, _Nakochan! It's your first day!" she chirps. "You'll have plenty of time to study later. Today, just worry about getting used to the school! Shicchan says you should ask her any questions you have."

Hakamichi just smiles at me. There's a sort of serene fierceness in it, but then it slackens and she continues to sign.

"So how do you like the school so far? Have you gotten a chance to look around much yet?"

"Uh…"

To be honest, I haven't formed much of an opinion. I guess I could have taken more time to stop and smell the proverbial roses, but I've just been so self-involved… The school itself didn't matter, so much as that it was _new _and it was _mine. _Now that I'm _actually_ sitting at a desk in a classroom, speaking to my new classmates, it's strange to be focusing on _reality _and not just nebulous ideas.

"It's… nice. It's different."

"Hahaha~! Nothing like Shibuya, huh?"

"I went to school further away, but no, it's nothing like there, either."

Misha just giggles. Hakamichi regards me with a curious expression. There really is something about her gaze that feels as though it's coming from behind a one-way mirror.

Actually, I don't want to talk about the past anymore. "So, ah, the assignment?"

"Oh, right! We need to do that! Especially because you said you needed help with it…"

Hakamichi signs something, and Misha nods. "Shicchan says 'don't worry, we'll still get this finished before the end of class.' So just try to help out wherever!"

"Thanks, class rep."

"Waha~! Nakochan, there's no need to be so formal! Just call her 'Shicchan!'"

Really? I glance over to Hakamichi, but her expression is too vague to read. Then she rolls her eyes and signs to Misha.

"…Oh. Or 'Shizune' is fine too, she says."

I nod, and the three of us get to work. Or, I should say, the two of them get to work, while I frantically flip through the textbook in a halfhearted and vain effort to get some kind of grasp on the knowledge base I'm apparently supposed to have to do this assignment.

Shizune and Misha were nonchalant about my warning that I was completely inept at this subject, but after twenty minutes the full extent of my uselessness seems to dawn on them, and Shizune occasionally glances my way with a nonplussed expression.

_Sorry, I'm not actually as indolent as you probably think I am, _is what I would say to her, if I knew how to sign.

For his part, Mutou doesn't seem to realize I'm sitting here like a fool, not doing anything. I suppose I could flag him over and tell him that I need additional instruction, but for some reason that feels like it would be disrespectful to Shizune and Misha. At the same time, I don't feel right asking _them _to drop what they're doing and get me up to speed, either.

And, on some level, I realize these are just excuses to cover the fact that on some level, I just don't care.

Another ten minutes into the assignment, Shizune looks me in the eyes and pushes her glasses to the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are a deep, dark, blue, and something about them reminds me of my father, actually, whenever I disappointed him as a child.

She signs to me and the words come out of Misha's mouth. "Nakochan, what do _you _think?"

I blink at Shizune. "Beg your pardon?"

"About the problem."

I blink again, and stare down at the assignment. "The problem… Er, this problem here?"

Shizune furrows her brow and signs at me more… kinetically, for the lack of a better word, then she points at a portion of the page.

"No, Nakochan, we solved that problem already. We're on _this _one now. You need to pay attention!" Misha's amused voice doesn't transmit Shizune's annoyance, but I can figure it out easily enough.

Feeling the color rising to my cheeks, I glance back at Shizune. "I… I'm sorry, I said I wasn't good at this subject, and I was trying to catch up…"

"No excuses, Nakochan! I can't know you need help unless you _say_ something! We could have walked you through the problems, we could have asked Mutou over to help you, anything would be better than you just sitting there like a lump! You've been staring at the same page of that textbook for half an hour! What? Really, Shicchan? I thought we said it wasn't a big deal?"

They start to proceed into another silent conversation, but I interject. "I'm sorry… I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed with everything, still…"

Misha translates my words and Shizune rolls her eyes. "Forget… Don't worry about it, Nakochan. We're almost done with the assignment anyway! Just make sure you're ready tomorrow!"

Misha smiles at me, not the manic grin she was giving me before but a softer smile, seemingly intended to reassure me. Shizune, for her part, isn't even looking at me anymore, focused on the remainder of the assignment.

I return to staring at the textbook, but after a few minutes I look up and realize they've finished all the exercises. I contributed absolutely nothing. I was just a hanger-on.

Despite my indignation, I feel a sense of shame, which only worsens when Shizune shoots me an unmistakable glare. She doesn't say anything, though, and turns away, leaving me feeling as though I've failed some sort of test. I stare at the back of her head for a moment, speechless.

And yet, I feel pretty annoyed with Hakamichi, too. I _told _her that I wasn't going to be any help, and _she_ said that wasn't a problem, but after seeing me unwilling to fully dedicate myself to the assignment a few hours into my first day, whatever enthusiasm she might have had about a having a new classmate seems to have quickly petered out. What would she have had me do?

What a joke... Not even a few hours into Day One, and I've already succeeded in alienating one of my classmates, though apparently she alienates quite easily. At least Misha, for her part, seems peacefully oblivious to Shizune's stern disapproval of me, though I'm not sure how much of a consolation that is.

I'm still contemplating what on earth just happened when the clock tower bells start to ring, indicating the end of class. Shizune wastes no time in moving toward the door, but Misha smiles and beckons me to follow. I guess it's time to eat, though food is the last thing on my mind right now.


	6. Breaking the Loop

Lunchtime passed very uneventfully. I wasn't very hungry; despite a prodigious selection of foods available, I decided to save my adventuring for another day and settled for a cup of weak tea and a boiled egg. It's possible the medications are interfering with my appetite, but for once the more rational answer is that I'm simply a little stressed.

At Misha's insistence, I agreed to pass the hour sitting with her and Shizune, but after I told them I didn't have any questions for the class representative, the two of them spent the rest of the time speaking to each other in sign. Silently.

There's something... off about these two, though I can't quite place what it is exactly. The fact that the three of us are alone in this part of the cafeteria strikes me as especially peculiar. Don't they have other friends? Where are they, if not here? I can see a scattered few other conversations in sign language at other lunch tables, so isn't as though Misha is the only person Hakamichi can speak to.

The impression that I'm getting is that Shizune is either highly misanthropic or otherwise not well-liked. Or maybe it's Misha that's the problem, though she doesn't strike me as offensive; ostentatious and inscrutable, certainly, but otherwise harmless.

If they looked they were very interested in befriending me, I might be concerned that they would cut me off from forming other relationships, but they hardly seem to notice I'm here. Misha occasionally turns to smile at me, but Hakamichi hasn't even looked at me. Maybe their conversation is absolutely riveting, but I refuse to go along with it any further. I'm done eating, anyway.

"Shizune, Misha," I say, bowing my head slightly in gratitude, "thank you for showing me the cafeteria. I'll see you back in the classroom."

Misha blinks, seemingly ruffled, before her smile returns. "Oh, no problem, Nakochan~! Feel free to ask if you want to know where anything else is!"

They're her words, not Hakamichi's, because the latter merely waves me a nonchalant goodbye.

"I will. See you in a bit."

I'm delighted to escape the cafeteria, especially since today I'm still wearing the uniform from my old school and I stick out like an erupting volcano. Dozens of students have shot me glances since I walked in and the attention was getting to be a little much. Nobody came up to me, though, for introductions or anything. Either people at this school aren't very proactive, or Shizune's dampening presence is just that powerful.

Our classroom is almost empty when I walk back in, but the dark-haired girl in the back row is sitting quietly at her desk. Her hair falls like velvet curtains down the sides of her head and onto the desk surface, almost completely obscuring the book she's reading.

She's almost like a tableau. For some reason it feels subversive even to acknowledge her existence, but I decide to greet her anyway.

"Good afternoon," I say, lightly, crossing the room.

The girl shoots up like a piston, gasping, hair flying everywhere. Her dark eyes briefly touch upon mine before vanishing back into her hair.

"G, good aftern-noon."

Her voice is even softer than mine, and there's a hint of a panic in it. What on earth...

"Sorry... I didn't mean to scare you," I say, more confused than apologetic.

The girl mumbles noncommittally and sinks back into her seat, returning to her original posture like a ruffled dove taking over a newly abandoned park bench. As I return to my seat, I'm tempted to check my reflection to see if I've somehow turned into some kind of terrifying predator between leaving the cafeteria and entering the classroom. Scary isn't an adjective I'm often graced with.

It isn't long (unfortunately) before Shizune and Misha return as well, and their brisk movements are enough of a perturbation that the purple-haired girl again seems visibly intimidated. I can't imagine what would make a person so jumpy. She makes _me _look outgoing.

For their part, Shizune and Misha seem to continue their conversation from downstairs, leaving me be. I pass the time staring out the window while the remaining students slowly fill into the classroom, burying themselves in their own conversations waiting for our afternoon teacher to come in and resume our lessons.

I'm glancing back over our classroom when the door opens and Molly walks back into the room. I look over to her passively, only to double-take when I realize she's walking on prosthetic legs. In fact, she doesn't even have real knees... Despite that, her gait is perfectly effective, albeit unnatural.

How did I fail to notice before? She was sitting right in front of me...

Molly meets my eyes and gives a wan smile, and I realize I've been gawking. Embarrassed, I turn back to the window, hiding the heat rising to my face.

For a few hours, I'd actually forgotten that this was a school for the physically disabled. This is actually a pretty odd and noteworthy place, but I've been too distracted to take it all in.

I can't help but be conscious of how my nebulous first impression of Molly changed as soon as I saw her prosthetics. Well, they didn't _change, _but now I have two _different _impressions, and for some reason they're irreconcilable. Is the one I had when we spoke this morning the "truer" one? Should I pretend I still don't know about her prosthetic legs?

"Hey, how are you doing?"

She's standing in front of her desk, facing me, leaning her right shoulder relaxedly against the wall. I remember that she's almost certainly figured out I was recently hospitalized based on our earlier conversation.

I give her what is surely a weary-looking smile. "I've been worse," I sigh. "Thanks for asking."

She peers at me curiously. "Is it the first time you've been this far from home? I mean, by yourself?"

"I guess you could say that, after a fashion. I've lived in Tokyo my whole life."

She nods. "Oh, cool. I'm from Kobe. Same deal."

I blink at her. "Your whole life?"

She nods, finally moving to take her seat. "More or less, until I graduated middle school. Been here since then."

That explains why she doesn't have an accent. Well, she has a bit of a Kansai accent, actually, now that I think about it. I'm actually finding the conversation a good distraction from my thoughts, but the teacher coming in and starting class puts it on hold.

Hearing the teacher drone on about uninteresting subjects makes me realize how tired I am. I've spent the last four months in a sedentary existence. Even simply sitting upright in a desk and giving someone my full attention is a taxing experience.

Eventually the final bell tolls, liberating me from my chair. Shizune stands up and moves for the door before I've even put my pen down. Misha follows along diligently, waving at me when I glance up at them.

"Bye, Nakochan~! See you tomorrow morning!"

I halfheartedly wave back at her. I really don't know what's going on with those two. Sighing, I gather my belongings together and stand up from my desk, though I suddenly realize I don't really know what I'm supposed to do from here.

"Molly," I say, addressing her as she gets to her feet, "Are you going back to the dorms?"

"Um… not right this minute," she says pensively.

"Oh, so you're in a club or something?"

"Er… No, I'm not in a club or anything… It's complicated," she says, tugging anxiously on one of her braids. "Sorry, did you need me to help you find them? It's kind of a no-brainer; when you go out the way you came, look where the stream of people are going and you should see it okay. Trust me, you can't miss it."

"…I see," I mumble, a bit surprised at her sudden evasiveness. "Well, see you tomorrow, I guess."

"Yeah, we'll chat! I have to go, though."

Moving surprisingly fast for not having legs, she grabs her bag and speed-walks out the door.

...Well, that was certainly a little odd. Would it be overstepping my bounds to ask her about it tomorrow morning? If I even get a chance… Shizune and Misha seem to monopolize a lot of my attention considering their questionable amount affection for me. Maybe they just feel responsible for me, because I'm a transfer student.

Well, there's no point to staying here. I don't have anywhere to be, either. I pick up my bag and head for the dorms.

It's just like Molly said; there are students walking to the dorms, and it's not far off, either. It's quite a bit warmer than it was this morning, and the air smells nice. After spending as much time as I did breathing nothing but recycled air, this is a refreshing change.

I'm almost tempted to slacken my pace a little and enjoy nature for a change, but the throng of students is staring quizzically at my black-and-burgundy school uniform. It's a stark contrast from the sea of white and forest green I'm walking in. My mother should have acquired my Yamaku school uniforms while I was in class, so this won't be a problem from tomorrow on, but for now I'd rather avoid the stares as much as possible.

The dorm looks nice from the outside, its architectural style well complemented by the landscaping around it. What would that be called? Neoclassical? Are there neoclassical buildings in Japan? …Anyway, it looks promising.

The inside is clean and white, but sterile and institutional. There hasn't been a lot of effort to make it look like anyone's home, really. I suppose it's analogous to a hotel hallway. Those aren't very interesting either.

My room number is 314… I should be able to find that without too much trouble. I walk past the common room as I head for the stairs; a clique of underclassmen girls is in there sitting among a circle of couches, emphatically gossiping about some mutual acquaintance not present. A few of them glance at me suspiciously as I walk past the door, so I hurry along. The chatter is asinine anyway.

Upsettingly, my room is on the fourth story. I climb three flights of stairs, exiting into a long hallway that breaks off into several smaller hallways, like the prongs of a fork. Seems like a good way to keep students organized.

It's easy enough to locate my hallway, not far from the stairs. Apparently each smaller hallway has four rooms, with a restroom and shower at the end. Hopefully that means I won't have to duel anybody for the shower in the mornings.

As I pass by the first pair of rooms to reach my own in the back, I suddenly hear a deep, obstreperous groaning coming from the room to my left. It makes me stop in my tracks, turning suspiciously towards the closed door. What was... It almost sounded like...

"_Woof!" _

...Woof? What, like...? No, there's no way...

"_Woof!_"

That is definitely a dog. There is a dog in that room.

"_Woof, woof!_"

There. Is a _dog_. In that room.

Suddenly the door swings open.

"My dog can read minds, you know. He knows you're thinking evil thoughts."

...What.

I stand there, gaping, utterly nonplussed. There's a tall girl leaning in the doorframe, staring annoyedly at me from behind an oval-framed pair of sunglasses with a tint such a deep shade of crimson that they'd be completely impractical for anything. Her long hair is dyed the same completely unnatural scarlet, and the expensive-looking silk bathrobe she's wearing highlights her precociously top-heavy frame. I almost worry she's going to fall on me.

Resting on its haunches beside her is a large, liver-colored German Shepherd. It's eyeing me with a mix of suspicion and eagerness.

"Well?" Her voice is a slightly nasal soprano, so breathy she almost sounds like she's purring. Is she doing that on purpose? "I _know_ you're standing there. I can smell your perfume. _Why_ are you stalking around my _room_?"

She _knows _I'm standing there? Isn't that obvious? Is she... Oh, no... This girl's blind, isn't she?

"I, er," I stammer nervously, "I wasn't _stalking. _I'm a new student. I was just going to my room."

She quirks an eyebrow at me, and then gives an amused half-smile. "_Ah._ Well then, I apologize. The dog can't _actually _read minds. It's just something I _say._"

"That's... good?"

Smirking now, she gives me a small bow. "I suppose we'll be neighbors then. I _knew_ having a whole hall to myself was too good to last..."

Is she... blaming me for that? Or is she just being excessively frank?

Not knowing what else to do, I default to my manners. "I, ah, I'm Iwanako Daidouji. It's nice to meet you..."

"Momomi Matsumoto. Charmed. And _this_ handsome beast–" she says, gently caressing the side of the dog with the outside of her left leg, "–is my guide dog, Susano'o. _You _must not be allergic, or you wouldn't have been assigned this hallway..."

"Susano'o?"

"Sadly, I didn't get the luxury of naming him," she sighs irritably. "The trainer was an _eccentric_."

"Um... Okay," I say, flatly. "So... you have a guide dog? So... you're blind?"

I already know the answer, of course, but for whatever reason I'd like the comforts of external confirmation. Maybe she's not completely blind? Or can only see movement?

"I should _hope_ that would be obvious... Unless _you're_ blind, too? Hm, I didn't see you in class today... Well, I wouldn't one way or the other..."

"N, no," I answer, embarrassed. "I'm in class 3-3..."

I'm starting to feel a bit uncomfortable speaking to this girl. She seems... derisive. And maybe a little aggressive.

"Hakamichi's class? You _poor thing._"

I don't get a chance to appreciate the weight of that statement before she bends down, reaching out and placing her right hand atop my head.

"My, so _short._ And your hair is _lovely_," she says, fondling my scalp with her fingertips. "I can _tell_ you're pretty..."

She's now making me _immensely _uncomfortable, and the fact that bending down makes her ponderous breasts hover inches away from my face only multiplies the effect. As unlikely as it seems that somebody would act so brazenly on first meeting, she almost seems to be making me flustered for her own entertainment.

Still smiling, "So... what characters does your name use, Iwanako?"

I hesitate a little before answering, trying to discern how best to flee this conversation. "Err... _Gan_ as in rock, _Gyo _as in fish; you know the rest."

She grins impishly. "Mind if I call you 'Rocky'? I think it's cute."

"That... that doesn't sound anything like my name," I protest.

"Feh, who cares? Does it have to?" She crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow at me challengingly, as if to say '_Isn't my nickname good enough for you?'_

"N... No, I guess."

I never would have thought I'd be so easily browbeaten by a blind girl.

Seemingly satisfied, she grins again, as Susano'o yawns and sinks onto the floor. "Great! Well, _Rocky_, I look forward to speaking with you some more, but I'm waiting on a call from my boyfriend, so we'll chat later, hmm?"

"Um, bye, then..."

"Goood even-ing," she says in a singsong voice. "Avoid the harpies downstairs."

"_Woof!"_

With that, she promptly closes the door.

I'm... lost. Was she teasing me, or is she just _that _weird? I would have thought the former, but... That hair color and those glasses... I'm not sure what to think. I'll worry about it later, though. For now, I just want to lie down. I insert my key into room 314 and open the door.

…

For a moment, I'm puzzled by what I see, but then clarity hits. _You didn't have to do this, _I want to say.

Mother didn't just bring in my belongings; she actually _decorated_ my room. The entire wall behind the bed is adorned with a massive poster of the Tokyo skyline at night, and the grey, low-maintenance carpet is covered up by a fluffy, brightly-colored rug. Even the white linens standard with these rooms are obfuscated by a satin duvet cover. A old family photo with my parents and brother stands on the desk against the far wall.

This was meant as a surprise. I didn't see her buy any of these things when we went out shopping. Mother must have had them hidden in the car and gone back for them after dropping off my bags.

There's a note on the nighttable; I immediately recognize her lackadaisical handwriting.

_To my perfect daughter—_

_I hope you like the room! It was so __dreary_ _when we saw it last weekend and you deserve better. Please think about your father and I whenever you're in here. We just want you to be happy. We love you more than you could ever imagine._

_P.S. I bought you some topsoil and flowerpots, etc for the windowsill. Sorry I forgot to water your plants at home. _

_P.P.S. They told me they were out of uniforms in your size. Said they would place an order, but just wear your old one for now. Sorry. _ _Take your meds!_

Before I finish reading the note, the tears are sliding down my face. Suddenly feeling bereft of energy, I have to fall onto the bed.

My mother is a kind person but she never acted like this before I collapsed in the snow. Her and dad were always more concerned with my older brother. It's only now, as I've been wrecked by this condition, that she's refocused on me, and though the love I feel from her makes me better than I ever would have guessed, it also... makes me hurt inside. A normal girl my age shouldn't have to lean on their mother so much for spiritual support. Her mother shouldn't have to buy her a mass of expensive clothing and jewelry just to keep her from plunging into despair.

Mother shouldn't feel like the only friend in the world I have, anymore. Making her sad shouldn't be the only reason I would feel guilty if I died the day after tomorrow. She shouldn't have to be my lifeline.

It... I don't know. I don't know why I'm here. I still feel hollow, like I don't have a future. And Yamaku Academy, at the end of the day, is just a high school. It can't give me meaning. It can't promise me anything but a diploma. And then what?

"_You're going to live a long time, provided you don't lie around _sulking_."_

That's what the doctor said, the day before yesterday. But what's the alternative? What am I supposed to do?

...Pragmatically speaking, it probably isn't even appropriate for me to ask such meaningful questions when I'm still mired in such a toxic state of mind. Maybe the reason I'm here is to distract myself until I forget about my problems? The students I've met today are certainly distracting, to say the least.

I don't have a better solution, so I guess that's as good as any.

I turn to the night table. My nightly medications are already arranged in a 7-day container, so I swallow them down unceremoniously, then undress and hang up my uniform in the closet. I grimace as I suddenly remember what my mom wrote in the note about school uniforms.

Well, great, I guess. I get to be the one girl in the whole school wearing a different uniform. A special snowflake among special snowflakes.

...I try to be upset, but I can't help but smile sardonically as I slip on my nightgown. _It figures._

And, on that thought, I bury myself under the covers of my bed and let my consciousness slip away.


	7. Testing the Waters

Quarter to six…

Queer dreams. Dreamt I was turned into a computer program and made to sing songs for people sitting in small, humid rooms. Also everybody lived in the everglades? I don't even know…

I feel like a corpse… Waking up at this time used to be second nature. Now it's a crime against nature.

Tumbling unceremoniously out of bed, I gingerly stand up and stretch my arms, yawning so widely that the corners of my lips ache, and then I pull a fluffy pink towel from the top shelf of my closet and drift towards the showers. The water is mercifully hot, and I probably spend ten to fifteen minutes just standing there, soaking, like uncooked pasta waiting to soften, before shampooing my hair with the premium bathing products my mother purchased for me. This is the first time I've used them; they're violet-scented, just like my perfume. I dry off, spending another ten minutes blow-drying my hair, and skulk back to my room to get dressed for the day.

My old, reliable school uniform comes on almost effortlessly, though later on I'm going to want to get it starched and pressed. I put on my jewelry—earrings, bracelet, claddagh ring—then slip on my black ballet flats, walking over to the mirror to apply my makeup—nothing outrageous, just foundation, mascara, and lip gloss. I fret a little over my hair, wondering what I'm going to do with it today, before deciding on a same-side lace braid that takes three tries to get right, but looks good enough to justify the effort. As a final touch, I splash myself lightly with perfume, though my school uniform already smells of it, and check my reflection one last time before deciding I'm satisfied.

Then I have to frown. _Why am I doing this? Who is this for?_

Once, I might have said "for my mother". She's always been my role model, though I could never be as vivacious as she is. More recently, I might have said—privately—"for Hisao".

In those days, before my world ended, I wanted nothing more than for Hisao to notice me. Even before I found the courage inside myself to confess my feelings for him, feelings I had kept inside for months prior to that day in the snow, if he would just smile at me, if he'd just say "Good morning, Iwanako", when I walked into homeroom, it was… that was enough.

It sounds ridiculous in hindsight, but we never really spoke to each other. I was much too shy to engage him in conversation, especially when he was always surrounded by his friends. If it hadn't been for the encouragement of one of our mutual friends, Mai, I might never have had the strength of will to write him that letter. And then… what? Would I still be there right now, waiting for my ruined heart to go off like a ticking time bomb? Still sitting in class, hoping he'd smile to me as he walked by? I don't know. Probably.

I suppose I still fret over my appearance, even though I seem to be somewhat overdressed compared to my classmates, for _myself_, now. Boys and confessions in the snow are a thing of the past; it's just me now, and I don't want to look as pathetic and lonely as I sometimes feel. On the other hand, maybe I'm just narcissistic. Narcissism is something of a family tradition.

I take my morning dose of medication, washing it down with a swig of Lipovitan. (I probably shouldn't do that, but… nobody said I couldn't.) I'm about to walk to class when I notice a piece of cloth on the floor by my closet; it must have fallen from the top shelf when I took a towel.

I bend down to inspect it; I've never seen it before. Then I realize, to my surprise, that it's a new bathing suit. Yet another vaguely umbilical gift from my mother. It's a sleek one-piece, high-necked, with a deep plunge in the back. Mostly black, but with a pink stripe above the bust. Practical yet still a little girly. More importantly, it's ideal for covering up my scar without making me look like an aquatic nun.

She must have known about the pool here and wanted me to use it… I should at least check it out. Not like I have any other plans for today.

…

The cafeteria has some rice balls with seasoned nori that are wholly inoffensive, so I help myself to a couple before class. I don't see anyone I know, so, after washing them down with the last of my energy drink, I make my way to the classroom. I'm still getting stares from people, on account of my uniform, but at least I know I look my best. I try to force myself to stand a little straighter, to ignore the other students, but it's surprising; you'd think most of them would know better than to gape at people.

Shizune and Misha are already there when I walk in to take my seat. They're in the middle of a conversation, but Misha turns to me happily as I sit down.

"Good morning, Nakochan~!"

"Good morning, Misha," I say, giving her a tired smile. She's as loud as ever, but it's kind of nice to be greeted so enthusiastically. She goes back to focusing on Shizune, though, who merely nods at me in passing.

Molly shows up a few minutes later, accompanied by a few classmates I haven't formally met yet. We exchange greetings as she takes her seat.

I'm reminded again of her hasty departure yesterday afternoon, and I'm mulling over the best way to ask her about it when Mutou finally enters the room and starts class, handing out the morning's assignments. Another group activity, like yesterday.

Am I going to work with Shizune and Misha again? I turn to them, but Misha's has her back to me and Shizune seems to be avoiding my gaze.

I don't get a word in before Mutou returns to the teacher's desk and gestures over to me. "Ah, Daidouji, would you come over here for a moment?"

I look up at him, curiously, before nodding and doing as he says. What could this be about? The other students are mostly chatting amongst themselves, but now a few of them are glancing over at me curiously. Apparently conscious of this, he speaks in a low voice.

"What did you think of yesterday's assignment?"

I blink, surprised at the unexpected question. "I'm sorry?"

"Was it too difficult? Too easy?"

I don't know what to say for a moment, until I notice Shizune in my peripheral vision, staring at us intently, and I instantly know what this is all about. _Drat_.

At some point, the class rep tattled on me, taking her troubles about my lackluster performance yesterday directly to Mutou. Perhaps she spoke to him as early as after lunch. Now, he's concerned.

I might have had this subject under control in a few days under my own power, or I might not have, but it was pretty bold of Hakamichi to take matters into her own hands without consulting me. I almost shoot her a dirty look, but I stop myself at the last minute and glare at a pencil case instead.

"Err, I don't know that it was _hard_," I say, my voice delicate so as to shroud my emotions, "but I'm a little out of practice, I think. This was never my strongest subject…"

Mutou nods, as though that was the answer he was expecting.

"You may have missed a lot of important material," he sighs. "If you don't mind, I'd like to assist you with today's assignment, to gauge where you're at. I wouldn't want you to be lost in the woods when exams roll around. You can bring your chair up to my desk."

"Um, yes," I say, mentally gritting my teeth. I move to my desk to get it, clumsily maneuvering it to the front through the maze of feet and desks. Misha and Shizune are already looking over the assignment; the latter briefly meets my eyes as I pass, giving me an expression as if to say, '_What? Blame yourself.'_

I back down from her wordless challenge, resignedly passing to the front of the room. I'm not daring enough to make a big deal out of this. I place my chair beside Mutou's desk, setting the assignment on the surface in front of me.

"All right," he says, gesturing to the top of the paper. "Can you show me how you would answer this?"

…

Well, that could have gone better.

The good news is that, after a great deal of arm-twisting on Mutou's part, we were able to confirm that I haven't completely forgotten everything I've ever learned in science. The bad news is that, in order to get even a passing grade on the upcoming exams, I would have to spend the lion's share of my free time mainlining the last quarter's worth of material and assignments. I'm trying to envision a scenario where putting myself through such an ordeal would be worth it, but my imagination is failing me.

I suppose the best argument in favor of trying in earnest to pass the exams is that I've never failed them before, and I don't know if I'm emotionally prepared for whatever doing so would mean. There are many people, surely, who would see intentionally giving up on the exams as a very passive or very lazy suicide attempt.

But, faced with a shortened lifespan, is it better to carry on as normal, or should you let go of your inhibitions and live like it's the end of the world? I don't know if I ever could, but the idea of throwing my life away reading dry passages about wave-particle duality is painful to contemplate.

"Iwanako, you still with us?"

I blink, torn from my sullen musings by the sound of my name. Molly is blinking at me from across the lunch table, looking slightly confused.. To my considerable relief, she invited me to sit with her and her friends at lunchtime today, saving me from another silent lunch break with Shizune, but my unfamiliarity with the other students and the multidirectional nature of the group conversation has made it embarrassingly easy to withdraw from.

"Y, yes," I say, softly. "Sorry, I was lost in thought."

Molly smiles. "Well, penny for your thoughts, then?"

"Err… It's nothing, really," I lie. I'm not ready to say what's on my mind, especially not in a public setting.

She pauses, still looking over at me, before her eyebrows flicker and she takes on a wan expression. "You're not still brooding about Shizune's… whole thing this morning, are you?"

"Wh, what do you mean?"

I know exactly what she means, of course, but it's troubling that Molly picked up on it so easily—and that she's bringing it up, here, in front of everybody. Though my expression is guarded, I know I'm beginning to blush.

"Come on; everyone here's known Shizune for at least two years now," she says, rolling her eyes wryly. "It was pretty obvious what she did to bug you."

The other classmates nod knowingly, making me redden even further. Were they watching me the whole time? I don't want to talk about this with people I hardly know. Why are you doing this to me, Molly?

"It's… it's fine," I stammer nervously. "The class representative… has a responsibility to report any problems a student is having with the subject to the teacher. It's what, what I would have done, in her position." I don't really believe my own words, but if it'll move the topic of discussion away from _me_,I'll say anything.

Molly's chocolate eyes fix me with a dubious look, but I steel my own gaze, and eventually she relents. "Fine," she says tentatively. "I was just going to say, don't worry about her. She's the same with everyone."

Doesn't sound like she cares much for Shizune, then, which only reinforces my suspicions that the class representative isn't well-liked. I glance over to the table I sat at yesterday, where Shizune and Misha are, again, sitting alone, signing to each other. It occurs to me that they can't be talking about anything particularly interesting or gossip-worthy, since a lot of people in the cafeteria could probably eavesdrop on them just by watching. I can probably afford to dismiss the nagging feeling that they're chatting about _me_.

"Thanks," I say, finally. "I haven't been thinking about it, really. What were we talking about, again?"

She blinks at me before answering. "The Festival. I asked you if you were going to help out with it."

Huh? I cock my head at her in confusion. "Sorry, what?"

"You don't know about the Yamaku Festival?"

I shake my head. "Apparently not. That's coming up?"

"Err, yeah. It's on Sunday. You haven't heard people talking about it?"

I shake my head wordlessly. Other than Misha and Momomi, I really didn't speak to anybody yesterday. I suppose I haven't felt very talkative for a while now.

"Well, anyway," Molly continues, "it's a lot of fun… we set up a lot of games and food stands and stuff. The school, I mean. Most of us help out putting it together, or we run the stalls, or whatever."

I nod as I take in the new information, rubbing my chin contemplatively. A festival, huh? I'm not able to easily decide whether or not I'm in the mood for one. It sounds a little… bombastic for my liking, and who would I go with? On the other hand, these opportunities are fairly rare, and if there's a chance I could have a good time, I don't think I can afford to pass up on it in my present state of mind.

"What are _you_ doing for the festival?"

She shrugs. "My family is coming down to see me, so I'm not helping out much this year. I volunteered to help clean up afterward, and that's pretty much it."

I nod, not having much to say to that. So far, Molly's the girl I'm most comfortable with at this school, if not quite a full-fledged friend, but if she's going to spend that day with her family, I'll have to go to the festival with somebody else.

Going alone is an option, I guess, but it's not a very good one—these sorts of convivial events are meant to be spent socializing with friends, not aimlessly drifting around by yourself. Inviting my mother to the festival springs to mind, but I'd have to give her notice early, and such an action reeks of failure. _Yes, mother, sorry, I can't even convince other people to go to a festival with me, come out here and eat takoyaki with me so I don't look quite as pitiable._

"So do you want to help out?"

"Um," I mumble, rolling a lock of my hair between my thumb and forefinger, "what's left to do?"

"Uh, I don't know, actually," Molly admits. "We delegated tasks a long time ago. All the shifts are taken, I think."

She turns to our classmates, who have been mostly sidetracked with their own discussion. "Do you guys know what's left to do for the festival?"

They shake their heads noncommittally and she turns back to me and shrugs. "Uh, you could always volunteer to be a backup, or something. Or you could ask Hakamichi and see what she needs help with. She's always trying to rope somebody into giving her a hand with whatever."

"Er, no, that's, fine," I say, unenthused at the prospect of doing _anything_ with the class rep. "I'm not… really all that eager to help out, anyway. I'm still sort of overwhelmed with things…"

Molly nods, giving me an empathetic smile. "Yeah, I know. I don't really blame you. Transferring in and all…" Then she blinks at me in sudden clarity. "Hey, shoot, I meant to ask you, why are you still wearing your old school uniform?"

I roll my eyes, sighing sardonically. "They're out of uniforms in my size, evidently. This is all I have."

"Oh, right, I'd forgotten all about that. Yeah, that's a thing. The class of first-years was bigger than usual or something… I think a lot of them only got half as many uniforms as they were supposed to get. A lot of girls were complaining about it…"

"Yes, well, it's fine," I insist. "This uniform is… comfortable."

The girl sitting next to Molly, a mousy girl with shoulder-length brown hair, looks over at me. "Wear the boy's uniform, if you want. That's allowed here."

The thought makes my face pucker in disgust. "Um… no."

Molly giggles. "Can't say I blame you."

One of the other girls then shifts the focus of the conversation to somebody I'm unacquainted with, so I spend the remainder of the hour passively listening to the discussion, silently sipping at my tea. It feels… normal, I suppose, but I can't help but fret that these new friendships I'm forming aren't going to be very fulfilling. Most of the students here have, like Molly said, been together for at least two years, possibly longer. But when all is said and done, I won't even have spent an entire school year with these people before I never see them again. Should I even bother? I don't know.

Soon enough, lunch ends, and we return to class, Molly still chatting with her friends along the way.

The afternoon classes pass by extremely uneventfully. None of the other subjects taught are anywhere near as frustrating as Mutou's class. By contrast, English is a course I could practically sleepwalk through. In fairness, I have always been skilled at it—I got an early start on it, since my parents speak it fluently—but, bafflingly, my English comprehension seems to have _improved_ slightlysince I was admitted to the hospital.

I suppose it must be because, from a certain point of view, I've spent the last few weeks "studying" English: I spent roughly eighteen hours a day doing nothing but watching movies, and the vast majority of them were Hollywood movies. My comprehension of them was in this sort of liminal state where the subtitles were as annoying as they were helpful, so eventually I just turned them off and tried to focus harder on understanding the English. Unusually enough, this seems to have been a boon, academically speaking.

It's also during English class that the tall girl I somehow frightened yesterday reenters the room and shuffles to her seat like she's trying not to be seen. Curiously, it seems to be working; nobody is looking at her, and even the teacher is ignoring her entrance. Now that I think about it, I don't remember seeing her earlier, either.

It's a little weird. I assume it's for medical reasons or something, but I'm not used to a student's tardiness being accepted so nonchalantly. She's been gone practically the whole day.

…

After school, I make my way back to the dorms and disrobe, placing my uniform in the closet, then retrieve the bathing suit I set aside earlier. In truth, I'm feeling a little lethargic, but if I don't go to the pool now, I'm going to keep making excuses until I go to bed.

There's a full-length mirror mounted on the back of my dorm room door, and for a moment before putting on the bathing suit I can't help but glance somberly at my own nude reflection. The thick crimson line still runs angrily down my sternum, screaming for attention. I force myself to look away and put on the suit.

It fits pretty well: it's not too tight, and it actually clings to my hips, which has been an issue I've had often in the past. More importantly, I can't see my scar wearing this.

I twirl in front of the mirror, assessing myself from various angles. Honestly, I think the bathing suit looks best from behind, but all and all my reflection looks… normal. This is pretty much how I _should_ look if I'm going to go swimming. If I didn't know I'd just been discharged from the hospital, could I guess? Not easily. That's a little encouraging.

I pull a sweatshirt and yoga pants on over the swimsuit, slip on some sandals and wash off my makeup in the sink, then grab my room key and head back the way I came. On the way out, I glance over at Momomi's door, but she doesn't appear to be in yet.

There's still a throng of students heading back to the dorms as I make my way to the administration building, but they don't stare at me nearly as much as they do when I'm in my school uniform. It's kind of funny, in a way: the student body at my old school never got so excited about transfer students, but at Yamaku it's almost treated as a spectacle.

When I get to the building, my first inclination is to go in the way I did yesterday morning to meet the nurse, but on a hunch, I decide to follow a pair of students with gym bags around the corner, and sure enough, they lead me to a less roundabout way of getting there. A pair of glass double doors opens up into a stark white hallway, with two entrances on the left side to the boys' and girls' respective locker rooms. Emboldened, I head in and prepare to change.

There's not many people in the locker room yet; there's a younger girl sitting on one of the benches away from me, but she's checking her blood sugar so intently that I decide to leave her alone. Most of the lockers are empty, so I pick one at random and deposit my clothes and shoes inside, then pull my hair into a ponytail. There's a basket of folded towels next to the door opposite where I came in, so I help myself to one and exit into the pool area.

The room is incredibly bright; the ceiling is at least eight meters high, and everything is painted a refreshing white and Persian orange, with a vaulted ceiling that's more glass than metal. The floor is tiled in ceramic in intricate arabesque patterns, and the room's periphery is a complex of decorative pillars and arches framing tall windows... this has got to be the most extravagant school swimming pool I've ever seen. I can see now why Mutou and the nurse mentioned it.

There are some bleachers along the far wall, so maybe Yamaku actually has its own dedicated swim team, though I find that unlikely. One girl, still in her school uniform, sits alone in the front, talking to another in what appears to be the official school bathing suit. As I'm exempt from physical education, I haven't been issued one.

Other than them, the pool seems strangely empty right now. A single lifeguard, a woman in her mid thirties, sits alone along the head of the pool, her nose in a biography, and the pool itself is empty, save for, surprisingly, a bald, middle-aged man doing laps back and forth down one lane. A member of the faculty?

I walk over to the shallow end, taking a moment to wonder what it is I'm going to do, here. I don't exactly know how to swim; I enjoy the beach well enough, but I've always avoided going too far into the ocean. I stepped barefoot on a beached jellyfish once as a child, and the experience frightened me enough that I've always stayed away from seawater since.

I take a seat along the lip of the pool, letting my feet dangle in the water. Happily, it's about twenty-seven degrees, not too cold at all. The nurse said walking around in the shallow end was acceptable physical activity, right? I can do that, I guess. I'm about to plunge into the water when I notice the two girls by the bleachers heading in my direction.

The girl in the swimsuit gives me a friendly smile as I look up. "Hiya!"

She has dark hair—lighter than mine but darker than Shizune's—cropped to chin length, with evenly cut bangs falling just past her eyebrows, and she stands a few inches taller than me, with a lithe body that suggests she swims quite frequently.

"Er… hi," I say, a bit taken aback by her friendliness.

"You're that new third-year that just transferred in, right? I've seen you in the cafeteria…"

"That's right," I answer, still vexed by the attention. "I'm Iwanako Daidouji."

"Ah, cool! I'm Aoi Sagawa. Call me Aoi."

"Nice to meet you, Aoi."

The girl next to her gives a tentative smile, nodding her head at me. "I'm, um, Keiko," she says bashfully. "Keiko Kobayakawa…"

She's slightly shorter than Aoi, and her wavy, ash-colored hair falls to the middle of her back, with jagged bangs in front and a small braid tied on her left side. She has what appears to be a graphics tablet-screen tucked under the crook of her arm; it seems pretty expensive.

"Hello, Keiko," I say, still wondering where this is going to go. "Are you third-year students?"

"Nah, second-year," Aoi says, smiling. "Class 2-3. We're pretty cool, I guess. You're in the student council president's class, aren't you?"

I blink at the question. "I am?"

She snorts, and even Keiko smiles a little, as if I just told a funny joke. "Haha, yeah! Hakamichi's class, right?"

I pause for a moment, surprised. "Shizune is the student council president?"

"Um, yeah, last I checked. Mikado's on the council too."

"Who?"

"The pink-haired girl? Laughs a lot?"

"Oh… right," I say, blinking again, startled. How did I forget to ask Misha for her full name? "Y, yes. They're both in my class."

"Right. Cool," she nods. "So, um, you like swimming?"

"Not really," I say with a wan smile, "but my mom bought me this bathing suit, so I figured I should at least learn how. I'm supposed to be exercising mo—"

"Wait, whoa, you don't know how to swim? Oh, cool, can I teach you?"

"What?"

"I'm an _awesome_ swimmer. I've been doing it since, I was like, two. It's the only sport I can do for a good amount of time, 'cause of my anhidrosis."

"Your what?"

Keiko rolls her eyes, smiling. "She overheats if she isn't refrigerated."

Aoi grins. "Haha, yeah. It's like, I don't sweat. At _all_. So my body can't regulate its temperature correctly. If there's no air conditioning, I burst into flame. So that's why I like swimming."

"Uh… Wow."

"But, yeah, so I could totally teach you if you wanted. You know this pool is salinated, right? Not chlorinated. So you kind of taste like kimchi until you take a shower, but it's way less harsh on your skin. It's new technology. Well, newish. I think."

"Er—"

"But, yeah, usually everybody is at their club meetings around now, so there's never anybody here. Just me and Keiko. And Keiko never swims 'cause she's a stick in the mud."

"She's lying," Keiko says sweetly. "I swim with her on Thursdays."

"Oh, I'm _sorry_, she swims _once a week_. The rest of the time I'm alone."

"Sure, except that I sit right over there every _other_ day of the week. And chat with you. Constantly," Keiko adds.

"I—"

"Shoosh, Keiko, you're not helping me convince her."

"Why are we trying to convince her?"

"Because, come on, it'd be awesome."

"Maybe she wants to join a club or something, you don't know that."

"Hey—"

"Why would she want to join a club? The only clubs that still have openings are all crap. She's not going to join a club."

"The art club has openings—"

"Oh, sure, weirdo central, I bet she's just _dying_ to join that club."

"It isn't that bad and you know it."

"You say that, yet you do all your drawing over here—"

"_Okay!_"

My interjection is finally loud enough to buy me a moment of silence, and I use it to sigh before answering the underclassmen. "If you want to teach me how to swim, that'd be great, thanks. I need to start exercising more, anyway."

A spur-of-the-moment decision, perhaps, but there's nothing binding me to it. And, frankly, I _would_ like to learn how to swim. The alternative is running, and I'm prone to very uncomfortable shin splints.

My answer seems to catch Aoi off guard for a moment, but then she pumps her fist in the air as the realization dawns on her. "Woot! You won't regret this!"

"Hopefully…"

"Don't worry," Keiko says, smiling at me reassuringly. "We're not as lame as we sound. I guess I'll get back to doodling…"

She returns to her seat by the bleachers and sips from a can of milk tea, before returning to whatever she was doing with that tablet. Judging by the intensity in her expression, she's doing something more serious than 'doodling', but I'm at a loss as to what that could be.

"She's always doing that," Aoi sighs. "She'd be doing it in class if the teachers would let her."

"What does she draw on that thing?"

"Manga, if you can believe it. Don't ask if you can see it, though. She's totally my BFF and even _I'm_ not allowed to look."

"Forbidden fruit, huh?"

"Yeah." She leans close, cupping her hand to her mouth. "(Personally, I think it's probably something really hot and steamy. Keiko might look sweet, but she's really a sicko…)"

"W-what?!"

"So!" She claps her hands together. "Swimming lessons! Let's get started, 'kay?"

Aoi spends the next hour giving me instruction more than actually having me _do_ anything; she insists upon my walking around the pool until I'm "comfortable" with it, as if I'm a six-year-old afraid of the water, then she tells me to drift toward the deep end and practice "not drowning". Though it looks elementary when she does it, my motions aren't nearly as successful, but eventually I'm able to tread water, however clumsily. When she's satisfied I can do it for an entire minute, she lets me return to the shallow side and spend the remainder of the hour practicing arm strokes. All in all, I wish I had started this earlier.

Aoi and Keiko have errands to run before heading back to the dorms, so I say my farewells and dry off to the best of my ability, retrieving my clothes from the locker room and heading back the way I came. I'm left with a good feeling about the adventure, though. The two of them are a little immature, but they're friendly enough. Aoi is a bit too hyperactive, but I can't help but like her anyway. Keiko on the other hand seems a bit introverted, but kind of adorable.

I thought there would be more students headed back to the dorms from their club meetings, but it seems like fewer people than I had expected. Maybe they're all working overtime on that festival? It sounds like kind of a big deal… Maybe it really _will_ be a good time.

As soon as I step into my hallway, I hear Susano'o barking emphatically from behind Momomi's door. Like clockwork, the door swings open, and the German shepherd looks at me with a dopey doggy smile.

"Good evening, Rocky."

Momomi smirks at me from the doorway, a steaming mug of coffee in her hand. She's wearing the same bathrobe I saw her in yesterday—it appears as though she doesn't like to wear her school uniform any longer than she has to. She's still wearing the same sunglasses as before, but they're pushed to the top of her head, holding her hair back like an Alice band. I can finally see her eyes; they're a very dark grey, nearly black, but surprisingly, there's nothing _wrong_ with them, no cataracts or protrusions or anything. They're so… normal. It's almost as though she's really looking at me.

"Hello, Momomi."

She takes a sip from her mug, still smirking. "You're back later than I expected. Did you join a club?"

Why does it matter? Is she keeping tabs on me?

"No," I answer, "I just decided to go swimming."

"Ah, _good_. Wouldn't want you to make any _rash judgments_ or anything."

"Rash… judgments?"

"Yes. There were certain… groups at this school I thought you might wind up being unfairly coerced into joining," she says, a hint of derision seeping into her voice. "You wouldn't have liked them, I don't think."

_What? What groups could she be talking about?_

"What had you so concerned?"

"Well, no _offense_, but you come off as the kind of girl who's easily pushed around—"

"Hey—!"

"—and there are girls at this school, who will go unnamed, who love _nothing_ more than to push people around. I was worried that, as a transfer student still… _unfamiliar_ with the way things go at Yamaku Academy, somebody would try to take advantage of you."

I stare at her quizzically for a moment, wondering if she was legitimately concerned for me, or if she's just messing with me herself. Nothing she says sounds sincere; there's even a small, niggling doubt in the back of my mind that she's actually _blind_, but that might just be the effect she has on people.

Too curious to let the subject pass, I decide to take the bait. "What clubs in particular shouldn't I join?"

Momomi grins, sipping thoughtfully from the steaming mug in her hand. "I probably shouldn't say."

"What?!" I say, flabbergasted. "Why not?"

"Well, because then you'd know who I was maligning, and then _those_ people might hear about it, and then I'd surely get into an _immensely_ undesirable confrontation with those people where I'd be very hypocritically accused of being a _corrupting influence_ on you," she answers, nonchalantly taking another sip. "Take my word for it, it wouldn't work out for any of us."

"Then how am I supposed to know what club I shouldn't join?"

"Well, tell me, are you even planning on _joining_ a club? It's not mandatory here, you know. I know some people say you may as well, stranded in the boondocks like this, but those people are bores."

"Well, er, I don't know, I hadn't given it much thought one way or the other. I enjoyed the club at my last school."

"Oh~?" She quirks an eyebrow, suddenly seeming unsettlingly interested. "What club was that, Rocky?"

"The ikebana club. I was the president… Well, I was, but then we merged with the tea club…"

"_Ha!_ You're kidding, right?"

"N, no…"

"_Kyaaahahahaha!_" Her laughter is sharp, almost metallic, like that of a stage villain getting away with some kind of serious crime. "Hell, I knew you were a sweet girl but I didn't realize you were a _princess_."

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, and I turn away, embarrassed. "Why… why are you making fun of me? I… that's… that's just what I like to do."

"Sincerely? _Sincerely_. You sat for an hour every day in a kimono pouring tea and fiddling with flowers, and you not only unironically _enjoyed_ this, but you found enough like-minded girls to turn it into a _club_? I just… I can't… I can't… I'm baffled. I can't believe that anybody being honest with themselves would actually want to do that."

There's a strange expression on her face; she still has an amused smile, but the corners of her eyebrows are pointed downward, as if she's vexed. It's like she's genuinely flustered by what I'm saying.

"I… I liked it. I don't know. I'd been friends with everybody in the club for years. It was just an excuse to lounge around and chat," I say, defensively.

"Uh-_huh_," she says, still incredulous. "Well, whatever. We don't have an ikebana club _or_ a tea club here, so you're out of luck, anyway. The closest thing to that is the photography club and they're less a club than a collective of socially awkward nutbars that fight over one small darkroom."

An unusual insight from a girl who ostensibly can't even appreciate photography. Momomi doesn't seem to have anything nice to say about anybody; it makes me wonder what she'll say about me when _I'm_ not around.

Actually, she didn't have anything good to say about Shizune yesterday, did she? She said 'you poor thing' when I brought it up… And Aoi did mention Shizune was in the student council…

"The club you don't want me to join is the student council." It's more of a statement than a question.

Momomi blinks for a moment, pausing before answering. "And what makes you say _that_?"

"It is, isn't it? You don't like Shizune."

Setting the mug down, she crosses her arms, her brow furrowed. "I'll neither confirm nor deny that."

"Fine," I say, crossing my arms as well, though the posture surely has no effect on her. "Then tomorrow, I'll join the student council," I bluff.

"What do I care? Do whatever you like."

"I will," I say petulantly.

"…Damn it," she says, losing her patience. "_Fine_. Yes. You shouldn't join the student council, no matter how much she tries to push it on you. You'll just be doing chores for her all day. There's only two people on the student council and she still asks for more responsibilities anyway."

"What? There's only two people in the student council? Why?"

"Because _Shizune_ is on the student council. Come on, try to keep up."

It's frustrating how caustic Momomi is, but it's kind of endearing to see that somebody dislikes Shizune even more than I do. I'd like to know why, especially since Momomi would seemingly not get a lot of exposure to her as a blind girl, but I doubt I could wring the information out of her without getting to know Momomi better.

"Er… I appreciate the concern, I guess," I offer, "but it's misplaced. Shizune doesn't seem to like me. She won't even _speak_ to me. I didn't even know she was student council president until a girl told me an hour ago."

Momomi's eyebrow quirks at this, and to her credit she does seem genuinely surprised. "_Goodness_. Really? My, that's unusual… She's usually _very_ forward about it."

"You… you know her pretty well, then?"

"I do know her, yes."

"And… you don't like her."

"Do _you_?"

I frown, not liking the taste of my own question. "I don't know her that well," I finally answer, diplomatically.

"Mm-_hmm_. Well, _apparently_ you're the kind of girl who just likes to 'lounge around', so if you don't know if you don't like her, you'll know soon. Shizune's a real piece of work." She sighs and bends down, aggressively massaging the skin of her dog's face and neck with her hands. He silently accepts the cruel and unusual treatment, his eyes still on me.

"So, I take it _you're_ not in a club?"

She gives me a wan smile. "Nope. Not anymore."

"Which club was that?"

"Don't you have a shower to take?"

A pregnant pause passes between us before a moment of clarity clicks into my head, and I can only laugh. "Yes. I suppose I do."

"See you tomorrow, Rocky."

She briskly shuts the door, and, sighing, I head for the bathrooms.

There's something about speaking with Momomi where I just _know_ she's deliberately being unkind, but I can't help but find speaking to her fascinating. There's… a kind of defiant strength about her, even though every word she says seems to drip with spite. It's the only explanation for why I spoke to her for so long.

I can't help but think about our conversation as I soak in the shower. Her dislike of Shizune, and her reaction to my having been in such a girly club… I feel like there's more to this, but I'm too tired to figure it out.

Why _did_ I join the ikebana club? It feels like a lifetime ago. I can't recall the thought process which led to my choosing _that_ club over all others. And yet I was eventually put in charge of it, a role I held until my heart attack ripped me out of that reality. What was my purpose? What did I set out to do?

It was all in vain, whatever it was. I'm here now, for whatever reason, and I need to figure out what that means.

I'm feeling better, though. About some things, anyway. Aoi and Keiko seem nice, and Molly has been friendly. Even Momomi is interesting, if nothing else. Shizune's the only person I'm having trouble with, but at least I don't seem to be alone in that regard.

I suppose that for now I'm going to let the science class situation resolve however it will, and continue swimming after class, at least until I decide I'm sick of it. Maybe tomorrow I'll try going into town. If I can just keep doing things this way, one day at a time, maybe things will turn out okay in the end. Maybe.

Wrapping my hair in a towel, I return to my room and put my nightgown on, getting the day's homework out of my bag. It doesn't look any more appealing than it did when it was assigned, but the path of least resistance is just to sit down and suffer through it, so I get started.

As long as I don't bite off more than I can chew, I'll be okay.


	8. Not So Cute

Another day, another obtuse science assignment.

The morning's chatter is somewhat muted; short of Misha brightly greeting me when I walked in, I haven't actually said a word to anybody since I sat down.

For my part, I'm holding it all together. I woke up just early enough to rush through my morning rituals, pop my pills and make it to class with dignity intact, though not early enough to have any breakfast. I'll probably regret that later, but for now I'm trying to pretend my energy drink is filling.

The teacher seemingly isn't interested in calling me up to the front again for a public demonstration of my incompetence, so it seems I have no other choice than to get started on the schoolwork. Based on a cursory glance at it, I have about a one-in-three chance of completing it to Mutou's satisfaction; the best odds I've had all week, frankly. I guess this worksheet is going to be covered in crimson the next time I see it.

Ten minutes into class, that tall girl whose name I still haven't bothered to learn drifts into the classroom with the cadence of a frightened doe. As before, nobody acknowledges it. In all honesty, something about it really brings me down… like watching a juggler drop one of his balls mid-performance, though I can't pin down exactly what it is.

The cynic in me notes that, if I wanted to look like an airhead, I could probably come into class an hour late, and when confronted about it, say that I thought that was _acceptable_ at this school, but of course that notion is completely awful and I immediately scold myself for thinking it.

Suddenly, the teacher decides to announce that we'll all be breaking up into groups again. It's more than a little annoying; why did he wait until I was already ten minutes into the assignment to announce this? Did he just forget or something?

For that matter, who am I even supposed to group with? Molly always works with her little clique in the front row—I couldn't join her already bloated collective without the teacher intervening and splitting us off—and Shizune and I clearly aren't getting along. The teacher clearly expects me to work with the class representative, so I can't easily ask him to personally aid me on the assignment without putting a spotlight on the growing enmity I have with Shizune.

In search of a solution, I glance at the desk behind me, only to find a very overweight student blithely snoozing in his chair. Great... Rock and a hard place, indeed.

Looking a bit more desperately for some way out of this situation, I peer over the whole classroom, but every student seems to form their usual groups, and in all honesty there's no reasonable way to go completely across the room and join one without making it painfully obvious I can't work alone and don't want to work with Shizune.

In fact, the only student who _isn't _already in a group is that skittish tall girl who never speaks to anybody…

Hmm.

Dare I?

No, it couldn't be that easy, could it?

The tall girl is obviously skittish and asocial; I've seen more than enough evidence of that in the handful of occasions I've paid attention to her over the last few days. She's not forming a group, either, and none of the students in the vicinity are making any effort to include her, so at the very _least _she's got to be capable of doing the schoolwork solo, which means she's almost _certainly _knowledgeable enough to help me survive this assignment. If I walk over there and partner up with her, I'll appear as though I was simply concerned she wasn't a part of any group, avoiding publically snubbing the class rep _and _getting my direly-needed assistance on this assignment.

Goodness… This has to be the most creative solution I've come up with all year.

"Molly?" I don't need to lower my voice; at its normal level it's already nearly drowned out by background conversations.

"Hmm?"

"That girl who just walked in… what is her name?"

She furrows her brow, no doubt wondering where I'm going with this. "Hanako Ikezawa… why do you—"

"Great. See you," I say, briskly picking up my chair and inelegantly brushing past Misha and Shizune, who reflexively turn to monitor me as they realize I'm fleeing. They're not the only ones; as people begin to notice I'm moving about the room, several sets of eyes peer at me, no doubt trying to ascertain my destination. I'm not sure what I ever did to deserve this much attention, but I guess this is what passes for interesting at Yamaku.

Absurdly, I begin to feel the pangs of stage fright as soon as I'm within half a meter of Ikezawa's desk, and I realize I know absolutely nothing about this girl. Maybe she bites people, or something. God, I hope she doesn't.

Come on, Daidouji, you can do this... Rouse up whatever vestiges remain of the gentle, personable class representative you used to be. You're not sullen at all; you're chipper, and unthreatening.

"Hello~! You're Hanako Ikezawa, right?" I smile, my voice such a poised, saccharine chirp that I nearly expect sparkles to dramatically fly out of my eyes.

She sits up with a start, as though horrified somebody's acknowledging her existence, and looks over at me in shock, and for the first time, we actually make eye contact—

_OH—!_

_Oh gosh her face—_

No! Focus on the eyes, focus on the eyes, do _not_ look away, do _not_ let her notice that you've picked up on the reason she goes to this school, do _not_ scare her off, and do _not_ pause for too long—_Move!_

"H, hi!" I stammer, doggedly forcing myself to continue on with this corny façade. "I'm, ah, Iwanako, obviously. I saw that you weren't in a group yet and was wondering if you might like to be my partner? I'm… not too great at this on my own…"

She pauses for a long moment, long enough for me to notice that the entire class has gone silent. For some perverse reason, this girl and I have captured the attention of seemingly every student in the classroom. I have no idea why. Maybe they were hoping I'd look away in disgust and lose face? Or perhaps they're watching me warily, nervous that I'm going to do something cruel to her?

She's noticed, too, and to my chagrin, she seems paralyzed by the attention. It makes me feel like a jerk… I never meant to freak her out like this, but I didn't take the rest of the class into consideration and now a dozen people are staring at us bug-eyed.

Well, this is certainly another fine mess I've gotten myself into. She's going to stand up and rush out of the classroom, and I'm going to have to return to my desk with my tail between my legs., maybe even get in trouble with the teacher… This was a bad idea, a _really _bad idea… I should have just forced my way into Molly's group…

"O… okay."

…Hmm?

Holy mother of pearl, _really?_

I try to wipe the bewilderment off my face and fail miserably. I can't believe that worked… But I guess there's something to be said for looking as unthreatening as possible. Even agitable, evasive introverts like Ikezawa won't exceed Threat Condition Bravo if you look like they could effortlessly punt you out a window. And I'm probably the shortest girl in class.

"Great!" I try to shoot her an award-winning smile, though I could just as easily dredge a shipwreck with my teeth. "I appreciate this, really."

"N-no problem… Iwanako."

She goes back to hiding in her hair as I pull my chair up to the other side of her desk, and gradually the other students go back to their normal activities, apparently underwhelmed by Ikezawa's reaction. Cautiously, I peer over my right shoulder to find Shizune glaring daggers at me, but she turns away just as our eyes meet.

Well, looks like she saw right through my improvised gambit, though that really comes as no surprise. It doesn't matter, since evading her this way helps keep whatever's going on between us from escalating, at least publicly.

Ikezawa is blinking at me when I turn back to look at her, though she quickly glances down at the assignment. Did she see that, just now? It can't be _that _obvious we dislike each other, can it?

"Ah, um," I say, trying to change the subject, "looks like this is mostly reading, so we can afford to take this at a leisurely pace, then work on the questions at the end together, right?"

Ikezawa nods softly and picks up her copy of the assignment, reading it upright with her hand as if using it to shield herself from me, terrifying harpy that I am.

I begin reading the assignment myself, with a little more dedication now that things appear less hopeless, though I'm unable to avoid occasionally stealing covert glances at Ikezawa's burn scars. As I've only ever seen her from a few meters away, I'd never noticed them before, since she keeps them so well hidden in her hair, but they cover almost half her face and run down her neck... It's, well, shocking.

They're horrible-looking, but it seems an easy enough gesture to just dismiss them as a sad, weird-looking characteristic. I'm about to return to the classwork when a giant, terrible epiphany crashes down on me. One that makes my stomach sink.

Her scars are the only meaningful difference between us.

They're a memento of the worst day of her life… They _have_ to be. And because she can't easily conceal them, this is the consequence; somebody who melts down so often that they can't even stay in class for the whole day. A girl so easily frightened from her injuries that even another girl, as injured as she is, can't easily approach her without being as gentle as possible.

And yet, it all makes sense. It makes _so much_ sense to me that it's _horrifying. _If I had those scars instead of my own, I don't know that I'd behave any differently. I can't _imagine _acting differently. It only seems wrong to me now because I have the cruel luxury of this unique through-the-looking-glass experience with Ikezawa.

In fact, even now, I don't know if I could say I'm any better off. Her self-imposed solitude is carefully maintained, something necessary for her survival, and I exploited it in order to get away from somebody I can't stand. I look as bad as Ikezawa does… It's just that most of my scars are on the inside.

Hanako Ikezawa _is_ beautiful, though, even _with _the scars, though she's probably unaware of this—I certainly can't blame her. Her long, straight hair is nearly flawless, and her large, dark eyes are nearly amethyst in color, if one is ever lucky enough to catch a glimpse of them. She isn't ugly or frightening in the least; she's just… wounded. Like me.

But the scary thing is… those scars are old, very old… She's had a while to live with them. If, even now, Ikezawa only hides within herself, then what hope is there for me? Is there more to it than this? Does she know something I don't?

Suddenly she looks up, finally noticing my gormless stare. She faces me with a startled expression that is a perfect mirror of my own, an endless feedback loop of self-conscious horror.

Finally, she breaks us free. "Are… y-you ready for the questions?"

"Oh, uh, yes," I reply softly, shaking myself out of yet another contemplative fugue. "How about I give my best shot to the first one, and you tell me as soon as I muck it up?"

She nods, silently and a bit hesitantly—it probably _is _a bit too much to ask her to call me out on being wrong, but I think that I've actually managed to puzzle this one out okay, thanks to some of the corrective guidance Mutou gave me yesterday. I jot down my best-sounding answer to the problem, making ad hoc corrections to my own logic as soon as my mistakes become apparent, and when I'm finally satisfied, I spin the paper around and show it to her.

"Is this okay?"

She takes the paper and reads it over carefully, nodding a couple times in succession, and I almost get my hopes up that I've finally succeeded at this subject when she takes out her pencil and makes several corrective scribbles over my elegantly-penned, completely unserviceable answer.

"…Close," she murmurs apologetically.

I exhale resignedly, though I shouldn't have had high expectations to begin with. If nothing else, I had the right answer, somehow, even if my way of getting there was obviously incorrect.

"H, here… Watch me."

Writing with the paper sideways so I can see what she's doing from the other side of the desk, she succinctly answers the second question, working slowly enough for me to follow her logic in real-time as she writes it. Finally, she finishes the question and spins the paper completely around so that I can review her technique. She's done a really good job of showing her work; I can actually completely understand how she came to this solution, though I'd never have reached it myself. It's obvious that she's really bright, probably smarter than me, though that's not really a high benchmark.

"I would have been hopeless, doing this by myself," I say appreciatively. "Thank you for your help, Ikezawa."

She gives only a gentle nod in response, but then adds, "…You can call me Hanako…"

"Very well, Hanako," I answer, a little surprised. The corners of my mouth begin to crease toward a smile, and I realize she's starting to grow on me.

Hmm… Do I push my luck? For all I know, she never wants this to happen again… On the other hand, I've already been pleasantly surprised… Whatever. Nothing ventured. And I want to get to know her better… Maybe I _have _to get to know her better.

"Hanako… Do you think you'd be willing to pair up like this again if there's another group assignment?"

Another long Ikezawa pause, but I'm used to them by now, and as I watch her hopefully, she slowly nods again. It takes all my composure not to trimphantly pump my fist like Aoi, but I can't help but grin at this turn of events.

"Wonderful."

Though the conversation peters out after that, I spent the next few minutes silently basking in my success as Hanako quietly goes over her notes from the previous class. Eventually the teacher collects the completed assignments, and students begin to file out of the classroom for the lunch break.

Hanako doesn't seem to be going anywhere. I turn to her as I stand up from my seat. "Are you eating lunch in here?"

"N, no. I'm… waiting for somebody."

Huh, so she _does _have friends. That's a relief to hear. I want to know more, but I think I've probably bugged her enough for today.

"Oh, well, see you in a bit, then."

"Bye… Iwanako."

Molly is still making her way to the doorway when I pick up my belongings, so I move to catch up with her as she exits the classroom. Turning my head, I wave to Hanako, and she gingerly waves a hand back.

Maybe she'll be more at ease with me from now on? Wishful thinking…

"Look at you, making friends left and right," Molly says, grinning. "Can't say I expected you to do _that_. Shizune's eyes were the size of dinner plates."

"I don't… I don't see why it's such a big deal," I mumble, reddening at Molly's reaction despite myself. "Hanako seems pretty nice…"

"You can't just _talk _to that girl," she sighs. "She usually runs off when group work is assigned. If I'd had any idea you were going to do that, I would have tried to stop you, but then you got ahead of me so I had no choice but to sit and watch the trainwreck unfold."

"Err—"

"I just can't believe she went for it. She must be in a good mood today, or something."

Before I can protest her not affording me any credit in the matter, we turn a corner and—

CRACK—

Something _hard_ and_ fast_ collides with my sternum, knocking me to the ground with the force of a pneumatic drill. It overruns me completely, and everything goes black as the back of my head collides with the linoleum, and my ears begin to ring like cathedral bells. My entire body sings with pain—

"Aw man, I— Oh, oh _crap_. Are you all right? Oh my god…"

There's a gentle sensation of someone else's hair tickling my cheeks… strawberries? I open my eyes to an unfamiliar face leaning over me. Urgh… Where am I, again? My head…

"Shit! I'm so, so sorry…"

"Ibarazaki, what the_ hell?!_"

The stranger turns away from me. "She just came out of nowhere—I didn't—" She turns back to me. "You're okay, right? I… do you need me to get the nurse?"

I try to answer her, but as I shift to speak I feel a heaviness in my chest… It's a sharp, sucking pain… I feel as if there's something I'm forgetting, but I just can't… I just can't get it back…

_thumpthump_

There's a pounding under my sternum, almost like getting hit from the opposite side, but I'm on the floor, now. My jaw hurts, my neck hurts… I can't seem to breathe right… It reminds me of…

_?!_

…No. No please no. Please stop… Please… Just calm down… Calm down calm down calm down, please…

"Oh my god. I'll get him, Emi…"

Huge, glistening green eyes hover above me, glistening further as I watch them. "I…" she begins, "everything's going to be okay, I—Do you need water? Can you talk?"

I manage to shake my head, though I stop almost immediately when I realize how much the movement hurts…

I… there's something I'm supposed to do here. There is. There _is! _Somebody said something, there's some kind of… exercise I can do to stop this, I don't think I'm making this all up—

If I believe it strongly enough, it has to go away. It has to. It _has_ to. I… I did my best. I_ had faith_ in this. I got a makeover. I made friends. I applied myself. I swam in the pool. I was going to go to the Festival… This was supposed to be my second chance. I'm supposed to get my second chance… This wouldn't happen to me now. It _wouldn't._ It doesn't make any sense.

So just focus… Just…

_thumpthumpthumpthump_

_No! WHY? Why is this happening?! _

Oh, god.

God, it really is.

It's really happening…

…This is it, isn't it? This is all I get… Four months in the hospital, three days in school… and my life is over because this idiot can't watch where she's going. I never should have thought I was safe… It really_ is_ that quick, that effortless. You get _one_ piece-of-garbage heart, and as soon as it's gone… that's it, game over. You don't even get to make your own terms.

I can't believe this…

The knot in my chest is tightening… I can still feel sensation in my fingertips, but it's just a matter of time. I remember how this goes.

"No no no… Stay with me, okay? The Nurse is coming, you're gonna be fine…"

You'd like that, wouldn't you? Face it, we're both screwed. Who _are_ you, even? I guess I'll never even know. I'll never know anything.

I can feel the vibrations in the floor as various pairs of feet stomp their way around me. Worried conversations erupt along all sides of me, filling the world with noise. I try to pick out individual voices, but it's impossible. What does it matter anymore, anyway? There's nothing I can do. I'm only here for a little while longer. And then… then what? Then nothing. Then whatever.

…Hands. Hands behind my head, hands under my back, hands under my feet… I'm being lifted onto something… A board of some kind? A stretcher. I guess the cavalry rode in…

The throbbing in my chest intensifies. It's getting harder and harder to stay aware of my surroundings… But I don't even need to be aware; I'm just going to be dragged to a hospital, so I can die without even a single iota of dignity.

Mother, I'm sorry. I never wanted it to be this way. I tried to make this work, I really, really did. I never wanted to make you sad, not like this. I would never have left you without saying goodbye.

In the end, there was never anything I could have done.

Damn it…


End file.
